Envy
by ChildOfFate17
Summary: I am not crazy. I just have certain times where I wake up and can't remember how I got to be someplace or what I was doing there. That doesn't mean I'm crazy... right? Unfortunately, the doctors at Arkham don't seem to agree with me. Joker/OC/Crane
1. City of Sirens

**Prologue: City of Sirens**

The first thing you ask yourself when getting thrown into prison is always something along the lines of: _How could this have happened to me?_ Granted, I'm not actually in jail… I'm in Arkham Asylum. Not that it really matters anymore. It's all the same to me now. _How could this have happened to me?_

I'm not a bad girl. I do my chores and get straight A's and hang out with my friends on weekends. At least, I _did_. And I was happy. Well, maybe not exactly happy… but I was comfortable. Who wouldn't be, when you're the daughter of a wealthy businessman and you're attending one of Gotham's finest high schools?

Okay, I'll admit that my life could get a little boring… but it was better than having it be _too_ exciting, if you know what I mean. Take the Joker, for example. Or Scarecrow. They are simply too exciting for the likes of me. At least, I thought they were. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

* * *

It all started a year ago, I think. That makes sense. About the time that Gotham started going crazy… so did I. Shortly after Batman appeared for the first time – along with Scarecrow, and later, the Joker – Wayne High started experiencing some strange things. It seemed so harmless at first; a couple of vandalisms, anonymous letters in certain students' lockers, someone rigged the school's TV network to start playing an "adult" movie during the morning announcements… The funny part is, I was just as confused as everyone else!

Sure, I noticed that something was different with me. I was suddenly tired all the time, and some days it felt like I was walking around in a thick fog. Sometimes, I would space out for _hours_, and when I snapped out of it, I wouldn't know where I was or what I'd been doing! I told everyone – including myself – that it was just stress and insomnia from the whole Joker deal. They believed me. _I didn't._

And then the "accidents" started to happen. Morgan, the bitchy head cheerleader, fell down a flight of stairs and landed herself in the hospital with a concussion and a broken arm. Someone started a fire in the science lab, and Mr. Collins sustained second-degree burns when he tried to put it out. Chelsea, a close friend of Morgan's, had an allergic reaction and almost suffocated when someone replaced her daily protein bar – and the new one had peanuts in it.

Along with maybe a dozen others, very few of them connected to each other in any way. People used to whisper about it in the halls… Was it the random work of a lunatic, or were these attacks being planned out in cold blood? There was only one link to every strange occurrence: a name. _Envy_. Always signed in the same flowing calligraphy; always written in acidic, poisonous green. It even found its way onto Morgan's cast, and no one could explain how it got there.

But these attacks didn't stop after the Joker was locked away in Arkham, and neither did my tiredness or occasional blank periods. That was about eight months ago. I should have put it together by then. I'm sure you have. But I didn't. Would you believe that I was even a little scared for my own safety? The biggest connection that the police could find between the victims was that a few of them (like Morgan and Chelsea) were part of the "popular" group – a term which here means wealthy and good-looking.

I am _not_ part of that group. But I do fit the criteria. What can I say? I have the blonde hair, the blue eyes, the rich Daddy… How many girls like me exist in this world? My bet is, _too many_.

So, anyway, they never could catch this "Envy". She was just too smart for them. I assumed that it was a she, because _envy_ seemed like such a girl thing. And then, about a month ago – not long after Christmas – the attacks started becoming darker and more publicized. The better exposure came from Envy herself: every time she did some sort of crime, she started filming it and sending in the tapes to GCN. (Now that I think about it, one of my many presents this Christmas was a video camera… shit.) The last shot of each video was always the same, too – probably meant to heighten the intrigue. A quick camera rotation, followed by an extreme close-up on a pair of laughing green eyes quickly became well known throughout Gotham as Envy's "trademark".

Yes, Envy was pretty famous at that time… especially after a particularly ingenious bit of chaos created when she snuck into the Gotham City Library one night and burned every book whose title began with the letters E, N, V, or Y. And yet, despite all the mayhem she caused, no one ever died from one of her stunts… until yesterday, when it all came tumbling down.

* * *

I had stayed behind after school to talk with a teacher. By the time I broke free, it was an hour later than I wanted and I didn't feel like waiting fifteen minutes for the next public bus. So, I decided to walk the three blocks home. And don't give me the "well, you had it coming, idiot" that I know is on your lips right now. I'd walked home plenty of times before and never had problems! Granted, I had always walked home at a time when other people were on the streets… maybe I did have it coming. _Idiot_.

I went out the back entrance of the school, because it spit me out closer to my house than the front entrance did. The back lot was almost deserted… but not quite. A gang of guys about my age was lounging against the wall near where I'd need to turn. There were four of them, and when they saw me, they all stopped talking and started elbowing each other and laughing. One of them wolf-whistled. Another one called, "What's happening, baby?"

I did my best to ignore them and keep my eyes down, while still watching them in my peripheral vision. I debated on crossing the street before turning, but they weren't so close to the corner as to pose a problem… That is, until one of them stepped out in front of me and cut off my path.

"Come on, babe, we just wanna talk," he coaxed. Beside him, the other boys laughed and inched closer.

"I don't want to talk to you," I responded as coldly as I could manage, all the while trying to get around him. He didn't make a move until I was almost past him – and then I was slammed forcefully into the concrete wall, wrists restrained above me by his hands. The others laughed again, quieter this time, and they slunk closer with hungry looks on their dirty faces. My head ached; I felt nauseous… I think my last thought was, "When did it get so foggy?"

* * *

And then I blinked, and I was in the girls' bathroom back at school. My hands were wet… when had I washed them? Slowly grabbing a paper towel, I chanced a look in the mirror. My face – even paler than usual – stared back at me, blue eyes wide with half-forgotten fear. But nothing seemed terribly out of place in my reflection… my hair was a little messed up; I smoothed it with shaking fingers.

"What is _wrong_ with me?" I whispered, but the girl in the mirror was asking me the same question. I had felt so sure that I was about to be raped or killed or _something_. Had I been spacing out again, and experienced some kind of waking nightmare? I checked my watch: 4:55 PM. When did it get to be so late? At least there'd be a bus coming around soon. Call me superstitious, but I really didn't want to walk home after the strange vision I had just experienced.

Fifteen minutes later, I was just hurrying up my front walkway when the sirens started. I didn't pay much attention; Gotham was the City of Sirens after all. But – let me tell you – I paid attention an hour later, when the police came pounding on my door to take Envy into custody.

My father answered the door, and I was sitting at the kitchen table. The next second, there were police officers everywhere and my wrists were cuffed behind me in steel. I vaguely remember hearing someone shout, "You are under arrest for charges of vandalism, destruction of property, disorderly conduct, and the murders of…" He went on to list several unfamiliar names before continuing with the usual, "You have the right to remain silent…"

They pushed me outside, and the night was lit up by white camera flashes and red police emergency lights. My father was arguing furiously with one of the officers, and they let him ride with me in the back of the police car. "Don't worry, Tasha," he whispered, hugging me tightly. "This is just a big misunderstanding. We'll get it fixed. It's gonna be okay…" I let him comfort me because I knew that it was his way of comforting himself, but I didn't say a word the entire car ride.

They knew – that part was obvious. Someone had finally tipped them off that something was very, very wrong with Natasha Vale. And even I didn't know what it was. Maybe they could tell me… maybe they could fix me? But even as I began to feel the tiniest bit hopeful, a very different thought brushed my mind:

_Once upon a time, the end… they'll never put __**me**__ together again._

* * *

Everything was chaos down at the MCU. The police car had barely stopped moving when the door opened and I was yanked out. I was momentarily blinded by camera flashes, and I _felt_ rather than saw my father climb out of the vehicle to stand beside me. Someone recognized him, and our name was taken up by the clamoring reporters and journalists that were begging for a statement. Neither he nor I said a word, and we were quickly bustled away into the confines of MCU's holding cells.

I was pushed into a chair and told not to move by one of the many police officers. My father had left me to resume his argument with the police lieutenant. I did as I was told and sat still, trying not to focus on my throbbing head.

A door slammed, and the room fell silent as Commissioner Gordon strode in. My father tried to talk to him, but Gordon brushed him off and came to sit in the chair opposite mine. He studied me for several long moments, and I raised my head to lock eyes with him. It wasn't out of defiance or challenge… not _really_. I think I just wanted to let him know that my spirit wasn't broken yet.

"What is your name?" He asked me quietly. I liked his voice immediately: calm, but decisive. Trustworthy. If we had met under any other circumstances…

"Natasha Vale," I answered, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice.

"And are you also known as Envy, the criminal who has taken responsibility for several acts of vandalism, destruction of-"

"Of course she isn't!" My father snapped, coming to stand next to me. "How dare you imply that my daughter-"

Several police officers tugged him away from me, toward the door. "Sir, if you can't be quiet during the interrogation, we're going to have to ask you to leave."

"Interrogation!" He blustered. "On what grounds? You can't prove a thing!"

"Actually," Commissioner Gordon refuted evenly, "we can, Mr. Vale. We have in our possession certain security tapes that link your daughter to the murders of four young men earlier today." He pulled out a thin stack of papers from his jacket and spread them in a row before me. "Do you recognize any of these men, Miss Vale?"

I dropped my gaze to the four photos and felt the world lurch around me. "Oh God," I whispered, staring at the mutilated faces of the four men from my waking nightmare. In other words, _my life_. Each boy had a different letter carved on his face: forehead, cheek, lower face, other cheek. E-N-V-Y. I tried to shut my eyes to the sight, but the letters seemed to be carved into the back of my eyelids too.

"Is that a yes, Miss Vale?"

Slowly, agonizingly, I nodded. The movement sent a searing pain through my head, and I let out a pathetic whimper. The pressure in my skull mounted, and the edges of my vision went cloudy, and then dark altogether.

* * *

The next thing I knew, someone was rubbing my back gently. "Tasha, honey? Are you okay?" Dad's voice sounded hoarse. How long had he been trying to wake me? I raised my head painfully – my neck muscles were sore.

"Dad?" I whispered. My voice sounded hoarse, too. I wondered vaguely how many hours we'd been here. "What happened?" I raised my head further so that I could see his face, and his expression scared me. There was worry and concern, of course, but they seemed secondary behind something else… I looked at him for several long seconds, before figuring out what it was: _fear_. He was afraid of me. "Dad?"

He cleared his throat, eyes darting away from mine. "You – uh… you confessed," he told me weakly. I stared at him, not comprehending.

The business-like voice of Commissioner Gordon cut in: "What do you remember of the past ten minutes, Miss Vale?"

"I don't remember anything," I rasped. My dry lips stretched painfully and I moistened them with the tip of my tongue.

Gordon evaluated this answer, and then commanded an officer, "Get Melvin down here, ASAP." The officer hurried away. To someone else, he said, "Set up the TV. Let her see the tapes."

The woman hesitated, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. She was afraid too. "Both of them?" She clarified uncertainly. "Gordon, are you sure-"

"That's an order, Ramirez." She obeyed silently, and Gordon turned back to me. "I'm about to show you some of your school's confidential security tapes. But before I do, I want you to tell me everything that you remember about what you did after school today." The door burst open, and a plump and panting man staggered to Gordon's side. "You're just in time, Dr. Melvin. This is Natasha Vale, also known as Envy. We're about to hear her side of the story."

He nodded at me to start, and I told them everything I could remember about my encounter with the four dead men. The part that everyone was most interested in, of course, was the part that I couldn't remember myself.

"How long ago did these blank-outs start, Miss Vale?" Dr. Melvin asked, pen poised over a thick pad of paper.

"About… a year ago, I guess. I wasn't sleeping well. I thought I was just stressed out with college applications and the whole Joker thing."

Melvin scribbled something down, and then asked, "Is there anything else that's been unusual for you in the past year? Any paranoid tendencies or voices in your head?"

"No!" I snapped, faintly insulted. "I'm not crazy." Oh, the irony.

"Her eyes change color," Gordon supplied. "If you look now, they're blue, but a few minutes ago they were green and they've been green in every tape we've ever received from Envy."

"Changing eye color," Dr. Melvin repeated, jotting this down. "Astonishing. It is not uncommon for patients with MPD to exhibit different physical characteristics when another personality is in control, but something as big as an eye color change is still extremely rare."

Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to ward of a headache. I knew how that felt. He motioned distantly for the TV to be turned on and then warned me grimly, "This will be disturbing. If you want me to stop it, just ask and I will." I nodded mutely and set my eyes on the screen. I was going to get those forty minutes of my life back, no matter how disturbing it was.

* * *

_Envy opened her eyes leisurely, enjoying the chaotic tension around her. Taking in the faces of her new playthings, she realized with slight disappointment that they were all just gangly boys. Still, they were obviously begging to be disciplined… and she had always been one to oblige. Someone had to teach them manners, after all._

_She laughed softly in anticipation and watched confusion and fear flit over the boys' faces. They didn't like her laughter; it made them feel like they weren't in control. "Shut up, bitch," one of them hissed, backhanding her in the face. The slap felt more like a caress to her; Envy simply couldn't resist foreplay. She gave as good as she got, kneeing the one holding her in the groin and smiling in satisfaction at his pained cry. Then she elbowed him in the face for good measure, chuckling as she felt one of his bones give a fulfilling crunch. He staggered back, blood pouring from his broken nose._

_The other three boys crowded in on her, pinning her back to the wall. One of them took out a thin silver knife from his pocket and showed it to her threateningly. Envy stilled, watching the shining blade with excitement and desire. These boys knew how to play! But she'd make sure to show them that __**she**__ could play better._

_Twenty-five minutes later, Envy beamed in completion down at her beautiful trophies. She hadn't intended to kill them at first, but when they took out the knife, all bets had been off. Fingering the blade lovingly, she paced unhurriedly in front of the four bodies, wondering how best to make a symbol out of them. They had thought that they could control her. And look where it got them. They needed to be made an example of._

_With a knife in her hand, Envy was feeling quite… artistic. Ten minutes later, she leaned back and looked over her handiwork – flawless. She ruefully ran her finger over the blade one more time before placing it in the lifeless grasp of the boy who had first taken it out. As happy as it would make her to keep it as a little souvenir, she didn't want her other side getting even more suspicious. Which reminded her… _

_Envy glanced down at her bloodstained hands and wiped them deftly on one of the boys' shirts, making two beautiful red handprints on his grimy white shirt. No, that wouldn't do, her hands still felt sticky. With a faint sight of irritation – not regret, just irritation – she pulled on her previously discarded backpack and headed back into the school to wash her hands._

* * *

It was so sick, watching my body betray me like that. Seeing those hands – _my hands_ – covered in another person's blood. So I really was Envy. God, my head hurt.

"Was any of what you just witnessed familiar?" Dr. Melvin was asking me.

I swallowed to make sure that I wouldn't throw up when I opened my mouth, and then answered faintly, "No."

"Well, Gordon, it seems pretty simple to me," the doctor stated, so calm, so coolly unaffected by the slaughter he had just born witness to. I hate doctors. "Miss Vale here seems to be suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder – in other words, MPD. She has all the symptoms: blank periods of amnesia and time loss, she exhibits different physical characteristics at certain times, and she has another personality that goes by the name of Envy."

"To Arkham, then," Gordon sighed, resigned.

"I believe that Arkham would be the best place for her recuperation," Dr. Melvin agreed.

"Alright. Could you call them and tell them that we're sending her over? Tell them everything we know." Melvin nodded in compliance and left the room.

Gordon stood and stretched; it seemed like he was getting ready to leave, so I jumped in quickly, "Wait. Can I please see the other tape? The one that was taken just a few minutes ago?"

He looked down at me, and I could see the compassion and sorrow in his soft gray eyes. "You sure you're up for it?" I nodded, and he gestured for someone to play the second tape. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

"Thank you," I whispered.

* * *

_Envy raised her head, a playful smirk playing across her lips. Her second time out in one day? What a treat! Poison-green eyes caught on the four pictures in front of her and lit up further – her work looked pretty damn good in a police photo!_

"_Did you kill these men, Miss Vale?" Someone asked loudly. Envy glanced up in annoyance at the man who was ruining her moment. And did he just imply that her worthless counterpart had something to do with her gorgeous masterpiece?_

"_The name's Envy, sweetheart," she purred dangerously. "And of course I killed them."_

"_Tasha?" Another man asked in disbelief. The father. "What are you saying?"_

_Envy's eyes flicked uninterestedly in his direction. "Fool," she remarked coldly. "Can't you even tell the difference between me and your own daughter?" The man flinched back, as if stung, but the commissioner leaned forward urgently. _

"_Then you are __**not**__ Natasha Vale?" He asked._

"_Don't lump me in with her," Envy spat, eyes flashing warningly. "She's pathetic. I've been controlling her actions on and off for months now, and only today did she finally figure it out! She's been suspicious for a while, of course, but she just couldn't seem to __**grasp**__ the fact that her life wasn't completely hers anymore! But she'll just have to learn to share from now on, because I am not going anywhere."_

"_Why did you kill those men?"_

_Envy threw back her head and laughed. "Why? Why __**not**__? They were __**begging**__ for it, Commissioner! Four on one – was that really fair? And poor little Natasha had no idea what to do… so I stepped in. It could be argued that everything I did was in self-defense. They were the ones to attack first, after all."_

"_Was carving your name into their faces part of your self-defense, too?" He countered pointedly._

_Envy laughed again; the sound echoed around the otherwise silent room. "I like you, Commissioner," she commented conversationally. "But you need to lighten up a bit. They were already dead, so I doubt they minded much. It doesn't make any sense for __**you**__ to care about it more than they would. Besides, my little art projects are just my ways of sending a message."_

"_And what message is that?"_

"_Well, that's the __**point**__, isn't it? Like any work of art, it is completely open to different interpretations! I'm not going to spoil its mystery by explaining it. The real question is; what do __**you**__ think it means, Commissioner?" A frustrated look crossed his face and Envy giggled._

"_Then what about all the other criminal acts you've committed? Were they also about sending a message?"_

"_Naturally."_

"_Is it the same message, or different ones each time?"_

_Envy smiled, surprise and pleasure reflected in her eyes. "Very good, Gordon," she complimented. "You're starting to get it. They're different messages, I think, but they all contribute to one big theme!"_

"_And that is…?"_

"_You tell me, Commissioner." He didn't know what to say, and she shook her head in mock disappointment. "Well, when you figure it out, come on by and we'll have another nice little chat. But I'm tired now, and this conversation is starting to bore me. Until next time, then, Commissioner…"_

_Her head sagged, but a ghost of a smile still lingered on those mocking lips. _

* * *

And there it was. No judge, no jury. Packaged away to Arkham, just like Scarecrow or the Joker. Like any other crazy. But I wasn't! Was I? I'm not so sure of the answer anymore.

So, it's my first day in Arkham Asylum.

_How could this have happened to me?_

_

* * *

_

**Important Author's Note:**

**This fanfiction was completely spur of the moment. I enjoyed writing it, but I probably won't continue UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO. The next chapter would involve Scarecrow and the Joker, obviously. However, if nobody reviews, I might decide not to continue. So - please - if you like it so far, TELL ME. I'm not usually such a review whore, but this isn't really a priority of mine unless you guys care enough about it to tell me.**

**Also, if you do want me to continue, feel free to give me suggestions on what to include in the plot. As I said, completely spur of the moment. No planned ending. Etcetera. So, if you liked this, please just take the time to click the review button and type, "CONTINUE!"**

**ChildOfFate17  
**


	2. Twisting and Turning

**Chapter 1: Twisting and Turning**

"Good afternoon, Natasha!" An overly cheerful voice trilled in my ear, dragging a faint moan out of me. Thanks a bunch, disembodied voice. As if my head didn't hurt enough as it was. The only thing that kept me from rolling over and going back to sleep was the strong aroma of fresh-baked pancakes. And did I detect a hint of chocolate…? I opened my eyes.

Walls. Dull, white, blank. It took me a long minute to piece my jumbled memories of the previous day back together… Arkham. There went my appetite. I sat up slowly; my muscles stretched and throbbed in protest. Did I get run over by a truck or something? That might explain why I'm in hell.

Someone cleared her throat daintily, and I looked over to see a pretty brunette nurse standing there and holding my breakfast tray. She smiled at me brightly and placed the tray on my lap. I glared down at the chocolate-chip pancakes that had tempted me out of my peaceful slumber. Traitors.

"My name is Judy, and I'll be taking care of you during your stay at Arkham!" The nurse chirped. She made it sound like this place was some sort of 5-star hotel. "Since today's your first day, would you mind if I went over the rules and such while you eat? Standard procedure, and all that."

"Um… sure," I muttered, picking half-heartedly at the pancakes so as not to seem rude.

"May I sit down?"

I shifted so that my legs were crossed Indian-style to free up some room on the tiny cot. "Make yourself comfortable… if that's physically possible."

Judy laughed delightedly; she probably didn't get many patients whose humor she could appreciate without feeling slightly disturbed. Settling gracefully onto the bed, she started mock-seriously, "Welcome to Arkham, Miss Vale. Here, it is our policy to provide the patients with Gotham's finest in doctors, treatment, and-" I flicked a small piece of pancake at her. She laughed again and brushed the crumb off her pristine uniform unceremoniously. "Okay, I get it," she giggled. "I'll cut the crap. Basically, all the rules here are just common sense stuff. No fighting with anyone, even the other inmates-"

"_Especially_ not the other inmates," I corrected. "Because they, unlike the guards, are completely _psycho_."

"See, you're getting it!" Judy approved. "Like I said, it's all just common sense. Try to cooperate with the guards and doctors – if they like you, there might be a chance of early release!"

"Suck up to guards and doctors, got it!" I repeated seriously, coaxing another laugh out of her.

"You're funny!" She complimented admiringly, and I smiled. "But now I've totally lost my train of thought… thanks for that. Okay, we usually get the patients up by about nine o'clock every morning. Today's an exception to the rule for you, 'cause you got here pretty late last night."

"Why, what time is it?" I asked curiously.

Judy checked her watch. "It's about 12:20. I would have let you sleep later, but they've scheduled you for a group therapy session at 1 o'clock and I thought you'd want breakfast first."

"Yeah… about that…" I looked down at my pancakes again. "Is this really what the crazies are getting for breakfast everyday? Maybe I'm stereotyping, but I always thought that asylum food would be more…"

"Repulsive?" Judy supplied helpfully. "Well, the food here is actually pretty good, considering that it's… you know… an asylum. But no, you're getting the special treatment because your Daddy's going to pay for your meals. I'd keep it quiet, if I were you."

"Yeah," I muttered bitterly. "I think I've got enough envy as it is."

Judy looked slightly uncomfortable and apparently decided to change the subject. "Um… so, you're going to need to change into your uniform before therapy. Why don't I go get one for you?"

She got up to leave, but I called her back. "Is there any way I can get a shower before therapy starts? I feel like crap, and I probably look it, too."

She hesitated. "Well, shower time generally happens before breakfast, which is at 10:30…"

"Judy," I said gravely, looking her dead in the eye. "From one girl to another, I'm _begging_ you – don't make me walk around looking like crap on my first day here. Just think what that'd do to my self-esteem. Then the doctors would have to fix an inferiority complex on top of everything else. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Judy smiled at me in recognition of my exaggerated, but very real plea. "I'll see what I can do," she promised. "I think I'll be able to pull a few strings. You're a special case, after all. I'll be right back."

* * *

"Okay, it's settled!" Judy said, hurrying back into the room a few minutes later carrying a towel and a fresh inmate uniform. "Come on, we've gotta hurry if we're going to get you to therapy on time!"

"Awesome!" I rejoiced, following her out into the hallway eagerly. "You are my hero, Judy." She laughed, and I heard a second snort of amusement from behind me. A man in a white starched uniform was lounging comfortably against the wall next to my door.

"This is Brian, by the way," Judy explained. "He's our escort. Routine, you know." The guard nodded to me in greeting, and I gave him a playful salute.

"Much obliged, officer," I said before turning back to Judy. "Now where the hell is my shower?"

"Right this way," she replied, effortlessly leading me through the confusing white hallways. Brian had to hurry to keep up, obviously unused to keeping pace with two enthusiastic females.

So, here's what you're thinking right now: _You're in Arkham Asylum, you have MPD, and your other half just killed four people. Why the hell are you so happy?_ Truth is, I've been asking myself the very same question. The best answer I've come up with so far is that it could still be so much worse. God, I hope I don't eat those words soon, but it's true.

This is the way I see it: I might have gotten some old, uncaring bitch of a nurse instead of happy-go-lucky Judy. (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, anyone?) I might _not_ be getting a shower right now. And I _might_ have had to eat whatever crap they're serving in the cafeteria for breakfast. So, all things considered, I think I'm doing okay for now. The fact that I'm missing school doesn't hurt either, to tell you the truth. And _maybe_ a small part of me is happy to have finally broken out of that same boring routine that I've been stuck in for the last three years.

"Here we are!" Judy announced, ushering me into… a torture chamber. Which, in this context, can be defined as a freaking _public bathhouse_. What you see is what you get: lots of nozzles, and a distinct lack of shower curtains.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Judy's face fell pathetically. "I know that it may feel strange at first, but it's not as bad as you'd think," she tried to assure me. "Male and female patients are separated into different shower times, obviously, and everyone's so used to seeing each other naked that no one thinks twice about it anymore."

"But _why_?"

"It's a security measure," she explained. "Having everyone out in the open makes it easier to keep track of everything that's going on."

"Wait…" I said slowly. "You _watch_ us _shower_? No offense, but that sounds really creepy."

"It does, doesn't it?" She sighed. "It's not my favorite part of the job, but somebody's got to do it. Don't complain; at least you're only being watched by other women! If there weren't enough nurses, the guards would have to do it."

I flushed and glanced at Brian, who was pointedly looking anywhere but us. "Point taken! Now could you get him out of here so I can take a shower, please?" But he was already turning to leave.

"I'll be right outside if you need me," he told Judy, who smiled at him thankfully. She shut the door behind him and turned on one of the shower nozzles. It sputtered slightly and then started pelting out chilly water; I could feel the faint sting of stray droplets across my arms and face.

"Just letting it get warmed up," Judy explained to me. After a few minutes, the water heated up nicely, and…

"Well, this will be awkward," I deadpanned. Steeling myself, I stripped off my clothes hurriedly and stepped into the warm spray. The hot water was like magic, washing away all my troubles… My muscles soon became wonderfully relaxed under the hot, soothing stream and I sighed in blissful content. And for a few brief minutes, I was happy.

* * *

All too soon, Judy turned off the water and handed me a towel. I wrapped it around me immediately, already feeling those cold white walls sucking away at the warmth that the shower had left me with. After I had finished drying myself, she handed me a familiar bra and panty set.

"Your father left them for you," she told me in response to my questioning look. I nodded and turned my back on her to self-consciously pull them on. I'm comfortable in my body, but showering and dressing in front of someone who's almost a complete stranger is… well… _weird_.

I was then given a pair orange lounge pants, which fit me surprisingly well. Being on the tall side and quite slender, it's usually a real challenge to find pants that fit. The lounge pants in question stretched snugly around my thighs and then fell more loosely past my knees. Now why could I never find jeans that fit me like this? I guess I'm just made for prison life. God, someone please tell me I did not just think that.

Next, my favorite lacy white camisole – courtesy of Dad – and a long-sleeved orange jacket to match the pants. To complete the look, Dad had also dropped off a pair of dainty and comfortable black flats. Feeling distinctly unfashionable (I mean, come on, perfect matching was _so_ ten years ago), I tugged the ends of the orange jacket together and tied them in a tight knot to show off my slim waist and accentuate my bust. A girl must look her best, no matter the occasion. And this was about the best I was going to do, under the circumstances. "Time check?"

"12:55," Judy supplied. "Just in time. Hang on for one second, though…" She fished around in her pocket for something, and then triumphantly brought out an eyeliner pencil and a mirror. "Ta-da!"

I stared at her in awe. "You know how I said you were my hero? I take it back. You are my freaking _savior_." She laughed and handed over the make-up, which I eagerly applied. I briefly considering going a little overboard, just to fit the prison theme, but I decided against it and stuck to my usual medium-ish amount.

"You look good," Judy told me with a smile. "I'm sorry that I don't have any mascara to lend you. Keep the eyeliner, though. Girls have to look out for each other."

"Amen to that, sister!" I laughed, pocketing the precious make-up. "Seriously, though… Thanks. It really does mean a lot."

Judy hesitated, then said softly, "They told me about your… condition. And I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. You seem like a great girl, and it's not fair that you should be stuck in here, taking the fall for things that were out of your control. I really hope that you and I can be friends, even after you get out. And that _will_ be soon, Natasha, so you shouldn't let this place get you down, okay?" She smiled at me cautiously, and I smiled back. Then, somehow or another, we were both hugging and getting all choked up over our cute little bonding moment. Girls that apply make-up together, stick together. Or something.

"Call me Tasha," I added to Judy suddenly. "People only use my full name when I'm in trouble for something."

"Tasha," she agreed readily. And then – because the sappy Hallmark moment wouldn't have been complete without it – we hugged again. Only to jump apart like two startled rabbits when Brian rapped loudly on the door.

"You almost done in there?" He called, poorly concealed impatience in his voice.

Judy checked her watch automatically and moaned, "Crap! We're gonna be late!" She propelled me through the door and set a vigorous pace down the hallway. We had to go down a floor in the elevator, and upon arrival, we passed the first inmate I'd seen today. He was going the opposite direction with a guard, but he still found the time to leer at me and whistle quietly. Just like those other boys had done, before… I shivered and tugged at my cami anxiously.

"Just ignore him," Judy said quietly, noticing my discomfort. "You look really good, that's all."

"I feel ridiculous!" I whispered back. "And I'm fairly positive that orange doesn't do a _thing_ for my skin tone!" Apparently I didn't whisper quietly enough – not only Judy, but Brian as well, burst into surprised and appreciative laugher. A solitary doctor walked by right at that moment and gave us a strange look, which only made them laugh harder and me blush brighter. But by that time, we'd arrived at our destination: Therapy Room, 12b. Judy took a deep breath, composing herself, and then briskly opened the door.

The therapy room was actually very boring; all it held was a big rectangular table and a few mellow paintings on the walls. "This is Natasha Vale, for group therapy," Judy was saying to the doctor. "Sorry we're late."

"It's not a problem," the middle-aged doctor answered mildly. "Please, take a seat."

"I'll be back to get you in an hour and a half," Judy whispered in my ear. "Good luck!" She departed, and I quickly sank into the only remaining seat at the doctor's left side.

"Welcome to group therapy, Miss Vale," the therapist said calmly. "My name is Dr. Fischer. Thankfully, you haven't missed much. All that we've really gone over so far are the rules. There are only two, so it shouldn't be hard for you to remember them. First, that this room is a _safe environment_. Please refrain from saying anything hurtful towards the others in this room. Before long, I expect that we'll all become very good friends." The patient to my left snorted derisively, but Dr. Fischer pretended not to notice. "Rule number two: everything that is said in this room is _confidential_. If you are caught telling other people what your associates have said, there will be consequences. Is that clear?"

"Totally," I responded, already feeling bored.

"Excellent. So, I thought we could start by going around the table and introducing ourselves to each other, maybe say a few words about ourselves… Jared, would you like to start?"

The man to Dr. Fischer's right nodded lazily and sat up a bit straighter before sluggishly beginning a long-winded anecdote about his childhood. Here's the cliff-notes version: there was Jared, Kim, Miguel, and Bart. Jared, Kim, and Bart were all paranoid schizophrenics who had killed someone basically because "the voices told them to". They all had similar stories, and it got _really_ tiring by the third time. I have no clue what was wrong with Miguel; he chose to pass every time someone asked him a question. When it was my turn, I think I said something like this:

"Hi. My name is Natasha Vale, but everyone calls me Tasha. I'm seventeen years old, and today's my first day in Arkham. I was sent here because I was diagnosed with MPD, and it would seem that my other personality is a real bitch. She… well, she's done a lot of bad stuff, and my hope is that I'll be able to get her under control with therapy. And… yeah, that's pretty much all there is to it."

So that was that. Aside from answering a few other questions posed to me by Dr. Fischer, basically all I did during that therapy session was listen and try not to fall asleep. Crazy people aren't as interesting as you'd think. Or maybe I just haven't met any exciting ones yet. When the hour and a half was finally up, Judy and Brian came back to escort me to my next destination… wherever that would be.

"So, how'd it go?" Judy asked enthusiastically.

I decided to be honest. "It was… really boring, to tell you the truth. I always thought it would be interesting to see from the perspective of a crazy, but… it really wasn't. This one guy's a druggie; this other guy's got a chemical imbalance… big whoop. That doesn't explain or help _my_ situation in any way, which is why I came to therapy in the first place – right?"

Judy looked contemplative. "Maybe group therapy isn't the right thing for you," she suggested. "You may just need to have a few good one-on-one sessions with a doctor privately. Unfortunately, all the psychiatrists are really overbooked right now, which is why they had to put you in group… Can you tough out a few more sessions while I look into finding you a good therapist?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "It's not like I hated it or anything… I was just falling asleep a lot of the time. It also sucked that nobody but the doctor was _saying_ anything! I would have liked to ask a few of the other people some questions, but that small room with those awful white walls just makes everyone so _uptight_ – including me! If we could be somewhere else during the group sessions… outside, maybe… that would make things a lot better, I think."

"Maybe you should give Dr. Fischer that suggestion next session," Judy responded with a smile.

"Maybe I _will_!" I shot back. "Now, where are you taking me, _nurse_? These twisting hallways are starting to give me a headache."

"Well, it's about 2:35 right now, and the rec room doesn't close until 5:00. That's where we're headed. Unless you'd rather go back to your room?"

"No!" I answered quickly, not wanting to be locked up again quite so soon. "The rec room's fine!"

Judy grinned in understanding. "Come on, then!" She led me down a couple short flights of stairs, and out into what might have been the basement if I didn't already know that Arkham had several even deeper levels for the top-security prisoners.

The room was big and surprisingly well equipped. At one end, there was a TV that was surrounded by several sorry-looking couches, upon or around which a good number of inmates were lounging.

At one end, a good number of inmates were lounging on or around the many sorry-looking couches that surrounded the plasma-screen TV. (Wait – a _plasma_? How the hell did they afford that?) Occupying the large central area, there was an old pool table, as well as several cafeteria tables that were being used for poker and such. Meanwhile, at the far end of the room, a miniature library was set up with a single couch for anyone who wanted to read there. That part of the rec room was almost completely deserted – a single man sat at one end of the couch, reading. All in all… it was way better than I expected.

"Hey, Mike," Judy greeted one of the guards standing by the entrance. Oh, did I forget to mention that? There were somewhere around eight guards hanging out around the room, just watching to make sure things didn't get out of hand. "This is Natasha Vale. She's new."

"Nice to meet you, miss," Mike greeted me with a nod. The other guards nearby repeated this gesture, and I smiled at them politely.

"So – do you just want me to come get you at five o'clock?" Judy asked. "Or do you think two and a half hours is too much?"

"Five o'clock's fine," I murmured, still taking the full effect of the room in. At least the walls weren't white.

Judy squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. "You'll be okay?"

"I'm a big girl, Judy," I teased. "I can look after myself. Besides, this is no scarier than high school. The key is to find the right clique." God, I'm such a liar.

"I guess you're right!" Judy laughed, drawing the attention of a few inmates who had been watching TV. When they saw me, several of them seemed startled by something and started whispering to each other urgently. I averted my eyes and tried to keep my face composed. Maybe this was more like high school than I thought. "Well, see you soon, Tasha," Judy said, hugging me kindly. The other guards looked very surprised at this. Can't say I blame them – how many nurses have you met that would consciously hug a known psychopath with murderous tendencies? (I depress myself sometimes.)

"See ya," I responded, voice falsely cheerful. Catching Brian's eye, I extended this goodbye to him as well: "Later, Brian." He dipped his head to me silently, and my two companions departed. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and let my eyes wander over the rec room again. There were fifty to sixty inmates at most – mostly male, but I did spot a few women mingling in the big crowd by the TV… but no one seemed to be watching it anymore. They were all staring at me.

Disconcerted, I turned my head in the opposite direction. The library section was beginning to look more and more tempting. I took a hesitant step toward the other end of the room, but I didn't get too far. "Hey, Envy! Don't be shy!" The loud, rough voice filled the room and caught everyone else's attention, so whatever chance I'd had of slipping in unnoticed was gone. Jerk.

I turned back slowly, and it was immediately apparent who had spoken to me: the one who was grinning like a cat at a canary, just waiting to pounce. "Sorry," I answered, keeping my voice carefully nonchalant. "You've got the wrong girl." When he looked confused, I clarified by gesturing to my eyes: "Blue, right now. They have to turn green before I'll answer to that name."

I started to walk away again, but he was a persistent bastard. "Aw, come on, Natalie, we just wanna talk!" A few of his friends chuckled, and I was hit with a strong sense of déjà vu. Hadn't those other boys said something like that, before they attacked me? I debated on ignoring him, but the problem wasn't just going to disappear… I turned back.

"Wrong again!" I sighed dramatically, covering over my anger and fear with some good old sarcasm. "You're really not on top of it today, are you, pal? It's _Natasha_. And what exactly would you like to talk about?" He was glaring at me now, but I felt surprisingly secure with all the guards around.

"Is it true, then?" The man demanded, mocking me in return. "You really didn't _know_ that you were Envy?" Everyone was silent, waiting for my reply.

"That is correct," I answered coolly from between clenched teeth. "All that I was aware of were periods of amnesia and time loss, which is apparently normal for victims of MPD."

"So you don't remember killing those guys?" Someone else asked incredulously. I shook my head, and the man burst into laughter. "So now you're stuck in this hellhole for a crime you don't even remember! Jesus Christ, that's rich!"

"Thanks so much for the empathy," I said sweetly, giving them the most sardonic smile I could muster before turning once again to make my escape.

"Don't be like that, babe," a different man called. "Hang out with us. We'll be… _nice_."

"Intriguing offer, but I have a headache, and you people talk too much!" I shot over my shoulder. I think I heard someone mutter "PMS" amidst general laughter, but they didn't bother me again and I made it to the library section of the rec room without trouble. Sighing quietly with relief, I proceeded to explore the small selection of books with mild curiosity.

It quickly became clear that these neglected shelves didn't even deserve the term "library." There was not a single book with a publication date later than the 1960s, and the magazines were ancient. Saddest of all, it was the porn magazines that seemed to have been used the most. Shaking my head at this, I tugged a copy of Crime and Punishment off the shelf. We were supposed to start reading it soon in my Literature class – might as well get a head start, right?

Book in hand, I headed over to the single couch and sat down at the end farthest from its other occupant. As I made myself comfortable, I surreptitiously studied the man who sat only a few feet away from me. He was… quite attractive, actually. Dark brown hair, prominent cheekbones, high forehead… everything about him was striking. And disquietingly familiar. Damn, was he one of the really bad guys that I'd seen on TV? That would suck.

Whoever the guy was, he must have been very intent upon his book, because he didn't so much as glance over the whole time that I was settling down. Taking that as a sign that he didn't want to be disturbed, I silently opened my book and started to read.

* * *

I surfaced from the world of literature about an hour later and stood up for a quick stretch break. Sitting still for too long made me edgy. I hadn't gotten very far in the book; it was one of those novels where you had to read it slowly and really take in what it was saying. A few minutes later, I flopped back onto the couch and changed positions, ready to continue reading.

Just then, the book was snatched out of my hands from behind and someone said, "Whatcha readin', Envy?" That annoying bastard from before had come back to play. And he'd brought a big, hulking friend to back him up. He couldn't take on one teenage girl by himself? How pathetic. The two men glanced at the title of my book without much interest and then burst into laughter. "Crime and Punishment?" The leader choked. "Shit, that's perfect!"

"I'm glad you think so," I said quietly, and the blatant warning in my voice wiped the grins off their faces. "May I have it back, please?" That last bit wasn't actually a question – it was an order, and they knew it. The leader handed the book to his huge crony and slowly walked around the couch to stand in front of me. His sidekick stayed almost directly behind me – probably so that the guards couldn't see what was going on over here.

"Look here, girlie," the man breathed dangerously. "I like my women feisty as much as the next guy – but you need to stop running off your pretty little mouth all the time, or it's gonna get you into trouble. Now you and I are going to have a little chat about the way things work around here, and if you even _think_ about screaming, my boy here will just have to tear that pretty little mouth of yours _off_. Got it?"

I stared up at him, waiting for the fear to catch up with me. Anger and excitement pulsed through my body, filling it with the energy to execute the fight or flight response. But I wasn't _afraid_. For the first time in months, my head felt amazingly and wonderfully clear. I don't know what made me do it. It wasn't even planned. I just… reacted, and everything else followed behind. It was completely spur of the moment – but it felt so _right_. And so, giving into my instinct, I rolled with it.

Latching onto the jerk's orange uniform, I dragged him down on top of me and started screaming bloody murder. (That's a funny expression, isn't it?) Both of the men were caught unprepared by the suddenness of my attack, and it took the idiot on top of me a few seconds before he realized what I was doing. By then, it was too late: I could hear the running feet as several guards came to my rescue.

"Stop! Please stop!" I cried, pretending to struggle while actually holding him down. Only once the guards were almost close enough to see what was happening did I finally release him. The bastard shot up, cursing fluently, and was promptly slammed to the ground by several guards and handcuffed. It was a beautiful sight.

"Are you okay, Miss Vale?" The guard I recognized as Mike asked me gently. I nodded unsteadily and fixed my jacket with shaking fingers. "Can you tell me what happened, as much as you remember?"

I licked my dry lips nervously before explaining, "They just… came up behind me, and that one-" I flicked my eyes toward the sidekick (who was still holding Crime and Punishment awkwardly) "-took my book, and the other one said… that he wanted to have a talk with me, about the way things work around here… he said that if I screamed, he'd have that other man hurt me… and then he pushed me down and tried to kiss me and I… I didn't know what to do! I screamed anyway, and he said that I'd just made a big mistake, and then he got off of me… and you guys came."

And those good-hearted suckers bought every word. At least, they did after Mike got a good look at my eyes and confirmed that they were blue, and that I could be trusted. "Give her back the book," he ordered the hulking sidekick, who obeyed silently. "I'll be watching you, Brody. As for you, Sanders…" He looked at the handcuffed man with distaste. "I don't want to see you anywhere but your cell or therapy for the next month. Get him out of here."

One of the guards started to lead the handcuffed Sanders away, but the jerk yelled, "That bitch is lying! She grabbed me and wouldn't let me up! Ask Crane, he was watching!"

Mike turned to look at the silent man at the other end of the couch, who had been watching all of this with mild amusement on his face. "Well, what do you have to say, Crane? What just happened here?" Oh shit. I had completely forgotten about him. He knew what I'd done. I was so screwed. My eyes sought his, and Crane looked back at me with mocking blue eyes. He enjoyed holding this over me; that was apparent. He was going to get a kick out of turning me in.

"It's like Miss Vale said," Crane answered, staring straight into my surprised eyes. His voice was cool and smooth – the voice of someone who was accustomed to lying. "Sanders attacked her. I would have helped, but it all happened so fast."

Mike nodded, accepting this testimony, and Sanders let out a yell of rage and disbelief. Two guards had to tug him out, and he fought every inch of the way. I smiled to myself as I watched Sanders go, knowing that I wouldn't be seeing him for a while. Mike returned to the front of the rec room a few minutes later after being assured several times that I was okay and that I didn't need medical attention.

When I was sure that Crane and I were alone again, I scooted over so that I was sitting beside him. "Thanks for not turning me in," I said quietly. He nodded in acceptance, but said nothing. I fidgeted for a moment, and then asked, "Why didn't you?"

"Sanders deserved what he got," Crane replied indifferently. "He probably would have done that without your help, if he thought he could have gotten away with it. He likes to be in control. It was long past time for someone to wake him up from that little fantasy."

I nodded, not quite sure how else to respond to that. "Well… thanks again," I finished lamely. "I owe you one." I started to scoot back to my side of the couch.

"Why weren't you afraid?"

I turned back to him, confused. "Excuse me?"

"When Sanders threatened you," Crane clarified, his vivid blue eyes analyzing me in a somewhat discomforting way. "You weren't afraid. You were… something else. What?" His voice betrayed a hint of frustration, as if the fact that he couldn't understand me was a personal slight against him.

"Um…" I chewed my lower lip and thought back to that confusing moment. "I was angry, obviously… and… I think I was… excited?"

"And what was it exactly that made you excited?" He asked, leaning in almost imperceptibly.

"I don't know!" I snapped defensively. "I was just… bored, I guess, and I knew that toying with him would be… fun. God, I don't know what I'm saying! When he threatened me, my mind shut down. I wasn't thinking _anything_. And when I reacted… that wasn't me! I wouldn't have done that! It just… happened."

Why was I spilling my guts to this strange, beautiful man with blue lasers for eyes? And now he was staring at me as if I'd grown a second head or something. I wonder if he thinks _I'm_ the crazy one now. Clamping my lips shut tightly, I started to stand up. I needed to get away from this creepy man with his penetrating blue eyes that were starting to give me a headache.

"Do you think that your other personality was controlling your actions?" Crane asked calmly, as if I hadn't just made it clear that I was exiting the conversation.

"If she had taken over, I wouldn't remember any of what just happened," I retorted, sliding Crime and Punishment back onto the shelf.

"Not necessarily," he countered. "It's possible for two personalities to be awake at once. You said that you reacted without meaning to or even thinking about it. It is not unlikely for Envy to have been triggered by the hormone change in your body due to stress, thus letting her take control of your actions while your brain was still interpreting the fight or flight stimulus."

I slowly turned back again to meet that burning blue gaze. "How do you know this?" I asked guardedly.

"I was a psychiatrist, before."

"Oh. I suppose that would explain why you're acting like my shrink." No reaction. Could nothing get a raise out of this guy? "Did you, by any chance, specialize in MPD?"

"My primary field was psychopharmacology-"

"Come again?"

He graced me with a disdainful look. "I studied the effects certain drugs had on the human mind. However, I gained somewhat more… appreciation for multiple personality disorder after being diagnosed with it myself."

My mouth fell open in complete surprise, and – yes, I am selfish – pleasure. I was happy to know that he had it too, because now it didn't seem as lonely. (How's that for irony?) Abandoning my original plan to just ditch the disturbing ex-psychiatrist, I returned to my spot on the couch beside him and we studied each other for several seconds. "But you're so _normal_," I said finally, startling an almost-smile onto the stoic doctor's lips. "Granted, you're really antisocial… and that thing that you do where you ask me a question and then stare at me until I answer it creeps the hell out of me… but other than that, you're normal enough."

"The same could be said for you."

"Fair point," I conceded. We stared at each other for another minute, and then the floodgates opened. "So, what's your other personality like? When he takes over, is it the same way for you as it is for me? What did he do for you to end up in here? How did-"

"Are you quite finished?" Crane asked wryly.

"Not even close!" I retorted. "But I'll be quiet, for now. Talk to me." He seemed faintly amused by my haughty demand, but before he could respond, there was a commotion at the front of the rec room. I turned to see several new guards coming in, accompanied by a single inmate. "What's going on?"

"As a reward for good behavior, some higher-security patients are allowed into the rec room for a little while, provided that there are enough free guards to watch them at that time," Crane responded, uninterested. As he spoke, the new man turned slightly in our direction, and I caught a glimpse of face paint. My heartbeat quickened with anticipation.

"Is that…?"

Crane glanced at me sideways, probably hearing the barely suppressed excitement in my voice and wanting to analyze it. "Yes."

The Joker approached the crowd by the TV, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. "So!" He began, in that creepy singsong voice of his. "What's our – ah – _girl_ been up to recent-ly?" The group buzzed quietly with expectation, but nobody wanted to be the first to speak.

"Who are they talking about?" I whispered, looking to Crane for the answer. Our blue eyes met, and I realized that I knew before he could even say the word:

"You."

* * *

**Important Author's Note:**

**As you can see, I decided to write one more chapter for this fanfiction. I know that a lot of people don't like to read stories that only have one chapter up at the time (including me), so I'm hoping that this second chapter will reel in a few new readers. I'd also like to take this time to give a big "THANKS!" to all who reviewed my first chapter.  
**

**But it's not over yet. How about this... if I don't get at least ten reviews for this chapter... I'll blow up a hospital. JUST KIDDING! I just won't give you another chapter. So, PLEASE, if you like this story and want me to keep writing, here's what you do: click the nice green button below, and type "MORE." That's not too much to ask, right? =)  
**

**One more thing: if any of you have ideas on where to go with this story, please feel free to share! I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve, but after that... it will be chaos. ^^  
**

**ChildOfFate17**


	3. Novocain and Cobwebs

**Chapter 2: Novocain and Cobwebs**

I think my heart almost stopped with the strange mix of horror and delight that I felt. The Joker, the most dangerous criminal to ever grace the streets of Gotham, knew me. Or at least, he knew _her_ – that hidden, dark side of myself that even I didn't understand.

"We-ll?" The so-called Clown Prince of Crime drawled impatiently. "What's our little – ah – _Envy _been keeping herself busy with now-a-days?"

With Sanders gone, apparently no one knew who was supposed to step up and speak for the crowd. They all kept looking at _me_ nervously, as if hoping that I would answer for myself. Finally, one of the inmates stammered, "She… uh… she got caught, boss. Last night."

"Caught?" The Joker repeated incredulously. "_Caught_? No – no, no – she wouldn't do that. She's too smar-_t_. And _what_-" His voice deepened, tone becoming more threatening. "-do you all keep looking over _there_ for? Don't-cha know it's _rude_ not to _look at someone_ when they're talking to ya?" He whirled around, and his hooded eyes found mine and pinned me to my seat. A deranged, lopsided smile bloomed on his face and he took a slow step forward, licking those cherry-red lips in anticipation. "Well, hello, beautiful!"

I shivered involuntarily, unable to look away as his pink tongue swiped over the bulging scars on his cheeks. "Hello," I muttered automatically, and then immediately wished that I had kept my big mouth shut. The Joker's smile widened at my response, and he took another slow step towards me.

"You know, uh, Envy," he said conversationally. "I've been wanting to meet _you_ for a looong time… bu-_t_…" His expression darkened into one of reprimanding, and he started stalking forward more quickly. "But _why'd_ you hafta go and get yourself _caught_? I was having so – much – _fun_ watching your little pranks (living _vicariously_, if you will), and you just had to go and _ruin_ it! What have you got to say for yourself, hm?" Before I could think up a reply, the Joker's dark eyes flicked to my companion, and he let out a maniacal laugh. "Well, _what_ have we here?" He asked, voice heavy with sexual implications. "Envy and Scarecrow, getting to – ah – _know_ each other!"

Distracted, I glanced at Crane with wide eyes. _He_ was Scarecrow? The same man who had gassed the Narrows with that fear toxin? Damn, I suck. I should have definitely been able to recognize this guy. And yet… even now that I knew Crane for what he was… I _still_ wasn't scared. Something was seriously wrong with me.

"_So_," the Joker continued, regaining my attention. Shit, when did he get so close? He was only a few feet away, but he had stopped there, thankfully. "You two – uh – _lovebirds_ planned an escape yet? Anything goo-_d_?" God, the more he talked, the harder my head throbbed… This man evidently had a serious addiction to hearing himself speak.

Obviously, I wasn't thinking clearly. I blame it on the headache. Because no one in their right mind would stand up to face the Joker and declare firmly, "You've got it wrong. I'm not like you." So, it must be official by now – I have gone completely insane.

Everyone looked about as shocked by my assertion as I felt… Everyone except for the Joker, who simply looked thrilled by my challenge. "Then what _are_ you like, Env-y?" He asked long-sufferingly, in the same way that one might humor a child.

My head was throbbing nastily, and I unconsciously reached up to rub my temples. "I'm not – I'm not _her_," I mumbled distractedly. The pain was building. What was _with_ these migraines? Did I have brain cancer or something? Oh, wait – I did – and it was called Envy.

"I believe what Miss Vale is trying to tell you," Crane's ever-composed voice said from somewhere in the fog, "is that she has a split personality, and the part of her that committed the crimes that you were so _amused_ by is not the part that you are currently speaking to." I truly loved Crane at that moment. His cool, logical voice was like an icepack to my pounding head, almost allowing me to forget the Joker's chaotic effect on my mind… until he spoke again, and the pressure in my temples came rushing back stronger than before.

"Is – that – _right_?" The scarred man peered closer at my eyes and giggled tolerantly when I narrowed them at him. "Y'know, I _thought_ something about you seemed off, Envy… Being held back, hm, what a _pit_-y… why don't you come out and play?" Every word that he spoke was accompanied by a painful throb of my skull. And as I stared into those dark, laughing eyes, I knew that he was in on it. He understood perfectly well what he was doing to me. _He relished it._

"Quit it!" I hissed angrily, covering my ears with my hands in the hope of blocking out his voice. He cackled delightedly; the sound vibrated through my fingers, causing shockwaves the fog… amplifying until I could _taste_ it in the air; sickly sweet, like Novocain. And so – deaf, blind, and choking – with angry tears in my flickering eyes, I succumbed to gravity and slept.

* * *

As soon as she was in control, Envy's eyes flew open and sought out her precious toys. A feral laugh of satisfaction bubbled from her mocking pink lips upon spying them, waiting for her there so nicely. Her little counterpart had actively resisted the switch this time, which bothered Envy slightly, but the motivation of meeting Scarecrow and the Joker had given her the advantage.

"Well, well, _well_," Envy purred, poison-green eyes flicking back and forth between her two men. "Scarecrow and the Joker… it's like Christmas all over again." The Joker's scar-enhanced smile broadened, but Crane's expression didn't change. He was tense, she noted idly. He'd need to loosen up if she was going to talk to Scarecrow today. A smirk twisted her features – she could help with that.

"You know," she began, sliding into Crane's lap before he could protest and fisting a hand into his hair dominantly. He stiffened further at this contact, but – like a good toy – didn't try to escape. Envy's eyes met the Joker's as she leaned in so that her lips were almost touching Crane's ear and breathed, "I wouldn't mind finding either of you under my Christmas tree."

Crane stood suddenly, and Envy slipped from his lap to land gracefully upon her feet. "So tense," she lamented, cocking her head to look up at him. She reached up to stroke his cheek and his skin twitched slightly beneath her fingers, but his face never wavered from its cold detachment. Touching the dark circles beneath his eyes gently, she remarked, "You look tired, sweetheart… maybe you should… sleep for a while."

"No," Crane answered in that crisp, firm voice of his while sidestepping away from her fingers coolly. Envy shrugged, unconcerned, and let her arm fall to her side.

"Suit yourself," she responded, turning away. "If Scarecrow doesn't have the balls to come out and face me, I suppose he's not worth meeting after all." Setting her sights on the Joker, Envy started around the couch towards him, but she didn't get very far. Two thin, wiry arms encircled her suddenly from behind, pulling her back against Crane's chest violently.

"What was that you were saying?" Scarecrow murmured in her ear, his rough voice sending shivers down her spine as a triumphant grin stretched itself across her lips.

"Pleasure to meet you, Scarecrow," she returned exultantly.

"Hey!" A guard shouted, noticing Scarecrow's hold on Envy. He started forward threateningly, hand reaching for his weapon. "Back away from the girl!" Scarecrow chuckled quietly and Envy could feel his heartbeat increase with excitement as the guard tugged his gun out of his belt. "You heard me! Back off!"

Envy laughed with exhilaration and disdain, enjoying the sudden tension in the room while at the same time wishing that the guard's weapon were a knife. "Calm yourself, officer," she drawled, surprising the young man into lowering the gun. "We're just… playing around."

"It's against the rules," the guard said nervously. "Minimal contact between patients."

"_Oh_, well if it's against the _rules_," Envy said sarcastically, drawing herself away from the Scarecrow. "I just love order, don't you?" This question was directed at the Joker, who snickered.

"Um… see that it doesn't happen again!" The officer reminded weakly, already backing away. Envy chuckled to watch him go; the poor man was frightened of them, and they hadn't even done anything… yet.

"Ya know what I've noticed?" The Joker said unexpectedly. "Madness… it's like – like _gravity_. All it took was one little nudge, beautiful… and, uh… Here. You. _Are_." He let out a burst of hysterical laughter. "And _you_ – you took it even _further_ when you nudged little Jonny over the edge! I think… _we complete each other_. Together, _we_ can be the gravity that – ah – _drags_ this city down… whaddya say to _tha-t_?"

Scarecrow chuckled softly, blue eyes burning with excitement and malice. Envy's reaction was harder to read. "Gotham," she mused, an uncharacteristically solemn frown on her face. Abruptly, she snapped her gaze to the Joker and said, "Let's get something straight. Gotham is… a toy. A fickle, _naughty_ toy. It was yours once, just like it was his before," she indicated the Scarecrow with a flick of her head, "and – most recently – it was mine. Do you think that we three can truly stand to share something that we have so long considered solely our own?"

"Well, you know what they say: games are more _fun_ when there's more – than – one – _player_!" The Joker responded enthusiastically. "As you may know… I'm not a man to take things too _seriously_… There's only, uh, one thing that I'm not gonna _play around about_, princess… My – ah – _terms_, if you will…" He bent down a little, staring Envy straight in the eye. "The Batman," he whispered hoarsely, dark eyes shining with the manic gleam of obsession. "_He's mine_. You can play with anyone else, _En-vy_, but the Batman is _my_ toy. Are we – clear?"

"Mm, the Batman," Envy purred thoughtfully. "I'd almost forgotten about him… but, _yours_? That's no fun. No, none at all…" The Joker's face darkened; like he said, he wasn't playing around. Envy – who never _stopped_ playing around – simply quirked an eyebrow at him and asked cruelly, "Why so serious?"

For a moment, it looked like he was going to leap at her and throttle her with his bare hands. This thought was amazingly exciting, so Envy was a bit disappointed when he unexpectedly relaxed his tensed stance and started to laugh. "I like you, I do!" He wheezed. "Fine, have it _your_ way. But don't you go _moaning_ over your cards, missy – you're the one who asked to play!"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," she answered, smirking. "Moaning isn't my thing… I'm a screamer." Both Scarecrow and the Joker grinned savagely at this implication and Envy inwardly congratulated herself – she had guessed that they would go for that. What simple creatures men were. "So… do we have a deal?"

The Joker smacked his lips, satisfied. "Deal – me – _in_!"

"I'll play, too," Scarecrow rasped.

Envy beamed, delighted by the acquiescence of her men. Such good toys. "Excellent. In that case-"

"Tasha!"

* * *

"Tasha!"

I blinked and looked around, disoriented. Had someone just called me? I couldn't seem to remember very well… shit. Not again. What the hell did that bitch get me into this time? Okay, it would seem that I was standing uncomfortably close to both Crane and the Joker. And they were both staring at me. But who…?

"Tasha!" I turned automatically, recognizing my father's voice. Sidestepping awkwardly around the two men and avoiding their gazes at all costs, I hurried back up to the entrance of the rec room. "There you are," my father said, relieved. He hugged me tightly, and I could hear the other inmates snickering as they watched.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him curiously. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I left early to come see you," he explained. "How are you holding up? Did you get your meals? How was therapy?" It was killing him to see me in here – his only daughter, surrounded by the trash of Gotham's underworld. So, I lied. _A lot_. I told him everything he could possibly want to hear, because I love him, and he should be happy.

_I'm doing fine. This place isn't so bad, once you get used to it. The food's great. Therapy's going really well. I think it's already helping. The people in my group are very nice. Yes, I've made friends. Everyone here is treating me very well. No, I'm not scared of the other inmates. It's okay, Dad. Everything's fine._

I'm a good liar. Practice makes perfect, and all that. I was so close to having him convinced… but then stupid Mike had to come and ruin everything.

"Excuse me, Mr. Vale?" The security guard offered my father his hand politely and smiled at me, as if he was doing me some kind of favor. "I just thought that you should know a certain Mr. Sanders threatened your daughter today, and he's been put into solitary confinement for a month to think things over. Miss Vale wasn't harmed, as you can see, and you needn't be unnecessarily worried for her safety. Arkham's security force is highly qualified, and we will make sure that nothing happens to your daughter during her stay here."

Now, to any logical person, this speech might seem reassuring. When it comes to me, unfortunately, my dad is anything but logical. I don't actually think he heard a word of what Mike was saying beyond the fact that another inmate threatened me.

"What?" My father growled, reverting quickly into over-protective father mode. "Some jackass threatened _my_ daughter? Are you okay, Tasha? Did that bastard touch you? Where is he? I'll give him a piece of my mind to chew on!"

"Calm down, Dad!" I jumped in quickly. "I'm not hurt at all! Everything's okay."

But he had worked himself up into a frenzy by now, and he wasn't going to come down so easily. "I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it. Come on, Tasha, we're leaving. You don't belong in here. We're going home." He grabbed my wrist and started pulling me towards the entrance as Mike tried frantically to calm him down.

_Confliction_. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to just walk out of Arkham and never look back. I didn't doubt that my father could pull it off – he had friends in high places. But I knew that if I walked out now, things would only get worse. Envy would keep screwing with my head, maybe kill a few more people…

"No." I planted my feet firmly, dragging my father to a halt at the unexpected resistance.

"Tasha?" He asked quietly, confusion momentarily overcoming passion. "Come on, sweetie, let's go."

I took in a shivering breath and tried not to regret my decision. "No, Dad. You know that I can't do that. I can't run from this." _That_ deflated him a bit. Slowly, his grip on my wrist loosened, and I gently pulled away. I hated the broken look in his eyes, but what could I say? "She's not going to go away, Dad. If you break me out of here, it's just gonna get worse. _And I can't stop it_. That's why I need to stay. I need to learn to control her. Otherwise… people will keep getting hurt. I… I don't want more blood on my hands, Dad."

"Oh, Tasha…" He hugged me again, clutching me to him desperately as if someone was going to try and take me away. I put my arms around him, but there was no feeling in the perfunctory squeeze I gave him. I felt empty. My eyes stared blindly over his shoulder, watching my freedom blow away and dissolve, like cobwebs. "Come on," he murmured, taking my arm tenderly and leading me away. "Let's go to your room."

I went. Many gazes burned into my back, piercing daggers into my flesh until I was sure it was bleeding, but I was accustomed to pain by now.

* * *

The white walls of my cell sucked the melancholy away. Maybe they're good for something after all. Sometimes it's better just to be numb…

"What's in the bag?" I asked dully, noticing for the first time that my father was carrying a small duffel bag over his shoulder. He dropped it onto my cot in response and unzipped it. Out came a variety of objects: pajamas, books, a comb, an iPod… I latched onto this last item with surprising ferocity. _Music: emotion expressed in sound_. The white walls held no power over _that_. Even they couldn't suck that away. "Thank you," I said honestly, trying to put as much feeling as possible into the words. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, sweetheart. I love you too." He stayed with me for as long as he could, until visiting hours were over. Finally, when he could delay no longer, he pressed a kiss to my forehead and murmured, "I'll see you tomorrow, Tasha."

Not long after his departure, the lights clicked off, leaving me in the gloom of semi-darkness. There wasn't much I could do after that but crank up my iPod and let the white walls suck me away into unconsciousness.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I'm so sorry with how long it took to get this out! I had it ready to upload DAYS ago! This site has been a real bitch to me lately, and it kept telling me that I was trying to upload an "empty document". DOES THIS LOOK FUCKING EMPTY TO YOU? ARGH.**

**Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed! I responded to everyone, but - like I said - the site has been acting up with me. If you didn't get a review response, then I probably said something like, "THANKS FOR THE REVIEW; YOU ROCK MY SOCKS!" **

**So, I've decided to stop being a review whore. I am very pleased with the attention this story is getting so far, and I would love to continue getting reviews, but I'm not going to demand them anymore. ^^ I would, however, still like to reiterate the fact that I'd love to hear any ideas people have for this fic. And... that's pretty much it. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**

**ChildOfFate17  
**


	4. Bits and Pieces

**Chapter 3: Bits and Pieces**

The next day began in much the same way as the first. I won't bore you with the details. Well, maybe just one. Shower time – officially the most awkward ten minutes of my life, thus far. Let's just say that some of the female prisoners have been here way too long. And since inmates aren't really supposed to touch each other, I suppose it's only natural that they should be feeling a bit of sexual frustration.

That doesn't mean that it didn't creep the hell out of me to know that several middle-aged women were surreptitiously watching me shower. I think that was the fastest shower I have ever taken in my life. Tomorrow, I'm going to try to be even faster.

At one o'clock, it was time for therapy again. Taking into consideration the disastrous first meeting, I made a silent promise that I was going to try harder to open up this time. Today's topic was about our various hobbies and enjoyments, things that made us happy, etcetera. Jared, Kim, and Bart all answered tersely, and Miguel still chose to pass. It was so damn hard to be relaxed in that room! Only Dr. Fischer seemed the slightest bit comfortable, but that was probably because he had so little personality in the first place that there was nothing for the walls to suck away.

When it was my turn, I took a deep breath and started reeling off the long list that I had been mentally compiling of all the things that gave me some sort of pleasure. I kept my voice purposely loud and argumentative, hoping to fill the empty space with noise and stimulate the others to join in. I even insulted a few of the things that the others had named, but nobody took the bait and defended their position. After a full minute of non-stop talking, I was beginning to run out of things to say. But then, out of nowhere, I finally got the response that I had been looking for… and over the strangest thing, too.

"Chocolate ice cream is _not_ better than vanilla," Bart said unexpectedly. Everyone in the room slowly turned to look at him, and even he appeared a bit surprised that he had spoken. But it didn't stop there.

"Yes, it is," Kim returned, giving Bart an 'are-you-crazy' look. "Chocolate is _always_ best."

"I disagree," Bart insisted. "Chocolate just isn't meant to be frozen."

"Chocolate can do whatever the hell it wants! It's fucking chocolate!"

"Vanilla is the number one selling ice cream _in the world_-"

"Because people are fucking morons and they don't know a good thing when they see it!"

Slightly taken aback that they were getting so worked up over such a trivial subject, I hesitantly put in, "I just think that vanilla is kind of… boring."

"You see!" Kim stated triumphantly, as if my input settled it. Bart glowered, but did not respond.

It seemed for a moment that the conversation was going to die there, but then Jared (dull, pudgy Jared!) said quietly, "I don't think that chocolate and vanilla should be judged separately. They're just bases. A real ice cream needs more than just that one flavor. Personally, I prefer chocolate _and_ vanilla swirl."

Well, what do you know! For Jared… that was almost deep. I didn't think he had it in him. "Soft serve?" I asked knowingly.

He grinned. "You bet!"

"Sprinkles?"

"Duh."

"Toppings?"

"Yes, please."

I think I started laughing first and – one by one – they all joined in. Because it was just so ridiculous. And because it felt so good.

* * *

"So, how was group today?" Judy asked when she came to get me. "Better than yesterday, I hope?"

I considered this question for a moment before responding, "It was a little better, yeah. The discussion was… interesting. And now I have a huge craving for soft serve chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream."

"What in the world brought that up?" Judy laughed.

I gave her what I thought was a mysterious smile. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"As if she'd really eat it," Brian muttered from behind us, apparently to himself.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, turning to walk backwards down the hall so that I could glare at him. "Wait – are you implying that I'm anorexic?"

"Aren't all high school girls anorexic these days?" He answered rhetorically. "Besides, you never come down to the cafeteria for meals."

"No, we are not!" I protested, indignant. "I am _fit_, not underweight! It's called _exercise_. And the reason you haven't seen me in the cafeteria is because I eat in my room! Anything else that needs clarifying, _Brian_?" He was silent for several seconds before mumbling an apology, which I accepted with an annoyed jerk of my head. "Speaking of exercise," I continued after a moment, as if nothing had happened. "Does this place have a work-out room or anything?"

"Well," Judy answered, "there's an exercise yard, but it's open-air. Not many people go out there in winter."

"Awesome! Can you sign me up? I hate being cooped up like this. Burning off some calories would do me good."

"You hardly need it," Judy chuckled. "But sure, it's no problem. Do you wanna go there now?"

I chewed my lip indecisively; we had already reached the rec room, and I didn't really feel like just turning around and walking right back out. "Um… what time does it close?"

"5:00, same as the rec room."

"In that case… would you mind coming back to take me there at 4:00?"

"Not at all." Judy gave my arm a friendly squeeze and then turned to go, Brian at her heels. "See you later, Tasha!"

"Thanks, Judy. Bye, Brian." The guard looked slightly surprised that I was still acknowledging him after our little argument, but I couldn't afford to lose any potential friends in this place. I graced him with a bright smile, and he nodded slightly in parting. Then he was scampering away behind Judy, like a puppy. My lips twitched as I watched them go; he obviously had a major crush on the girl. Puppy love.

Chuckling quietly to myself, I made my way to the back of the rec room. The library section was empty – no creepy ex-psychiatrist today. Caught somewhere between relief and loneliness, I grabbed Crime and Punishment off the shelf and made myself comfortable on the couch.

Not one of the other inmates said a word. They knew what had happened to Sanders, and they were afraid. The message was spreading.

* * *

Some time later, I became aware of footsteps approaching behind me. Remembering what had happened the last time someone had come up behind me here, I looked up and shot my most threatening glare at the person. Crane raised his eyebrows at me, unimpressed.

"Oh," I said. "It's you."

"Obviously," he returned, no emotion on his pale, pretty face. "Is there some reason you don't want me sitting here, Miss Vale?"

"It's Tasha, and I just didn't want a repeat of yesterday's incident, that's all!" He shrugged and sat down on his side of the couch. Unable to stop myself, I blurted out tactlessly, "Are you really Scarecrow?"

Cold amusement flickered in his stony blue eyes. "Don't you watch the news, _Tasha_? Or is that Daddy's job?"

"Geez, sorry," I muttered. "I've only ever seen you with your mask on, okay?" He was silent; apparently he hadn't expected an apology. _Good_. I wanted him off-balance. "So…" I began, sliding closer in the hope of throwing him off further. He didn't react to my near proximity, much to my chagrin – but, being a former psychiatrist, he probably knew what I was trying to do. Hiding my annoyance, I continued evenly, "Yesterday. Envy came out. What the hell happened, Crane?"

A slightly smug smile made its way to his lips. "Do you really think that's the best way to go about coaxing information from someone, Tasha?"

Damn. He was right; there was no way I could possibly back up my demands. Time for a switch in tactics. Putting on my best puppy face, I wheedled, "Come on, please? We victims of MPD need to stick together, right? You monitor my other half, and I'll monitor yours. _Please_?"

Crane's jaw clenched the tiniest bit in anger – the first real emotion I'd seen from him all day. "Sharing the same diagnosis does _not_ imply that we are alike, Miss Vale," he snapped. I jumped upon this piece of information, quite undeterred by his less than friendly tone.

"Why?" I asked eagerly. "What's it like for you, then?"

Crane paused, and then seemed to make a choice between the rock and the hard place. "What's the last thing you remember before Envy took over?"

Distracted from my previous question (which was obviously his main goal), I replied hesitantly, "The Joker had been saying… something about letting her out to play. I remember him screwing around with my head, and I told him to stop… but then he started laughing… and his _voice_…" I had no words to describe the effect he had on me, so I just skipped ahead. "I'm pretty sure that's when she took over."

Crane nodded absently, and I noticed that his fingers were trembling. He probably wasn't used to hearing this crazy shit without taking notes or something. Forcing myself to look only at his face, I tried without much success to ignore his twitching fingers as I waited for him to speak. As tempting as it was to just reach out and grab his hands in order to stop their distracting movement, who could say how a crazy would react to being touched? I kept my hands to myself.

"Envy was… quite excited to meet the Joker," Crane told me finally, and I snapped back to attention. "She was also very insistent… she wanted to meet my other half."

"Did you tell her to screw off?" I asked hopefully.

"She wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Shit. Does that mean…?"

"Yes, she got what she asked for."

"Spoiled bitch, always getting what she wants," I grumbled, mostly to myself. "So, you don't remember anything either?"

Crane took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, possibly fighting off a headache. _Been there, done that_. After a minute or so, he put the glasses back on and said coolly, "I remember."

"Wait… what? How does that work?"

"It's different for everyone, Tasha. You and Envy are at the stage in your… relationship where you are both fighting for control and dominance over the other. It may always be like that for you. My situation is somewhat different."

"How?" I snapped, frustrated. "Stop beating around the bush!"

"Again with the demands!" Crane commented, his silky voice darkening with menace. All my instincts were suddenly screaming danger, and a strange shiver of excitement and desire ran through me. I didn't move. All of a sudden, Crane's hand shot out (oh, look, it wasn't shaking anymore) and he grabbed me roughly by the chin. Forcing my face closer to his, he whispered in my ear, "One of these days, you're going to learn that it's not all about you, Tasha. The faster you learn that lesson, the better off you'll be." His breath bushed lazily against my neck, and another violent shudder traveled down my spine. Crane watched me for a long moment, and I held his blue gaze boldly. The grip on my chin tightened and loosened several times before he finally pushed me away and ran his fingers through his hair. My eyes followed his hand automatically, and I realized that it was shaking again. What was up with that?

I barely moved a muscle until he apparently had himself under control. My heartbeat gradually slowed to its normal pace, but I couldn't seem to shake off the strangest sense of… disappointment. I am _seriously_ fucked up. Is it really so hard for me to just run away screaming like a normal person?

"Why?" Crane asked out of the blue. He had reverted to the cold, expressionless man that I was getting used to, but this only furthered my disappointment. For a few seconds there, something about him had come alive…

"I have no idea," I responded thoughtlessly, my mind still preoccupied with disgruntlement and self-pity. After a moment, I blinked and actually took in the question. "Why what?"

Crane's jaw clenched again, and his hands echoed the movement as they tightened into fists on his lap. "Why aren't you afraid, Tasha? Don't say that I can't hurt you in here – you know that isn't true. Why can't you react the way everyone else reacts? Why haven't you run away yet?"

Good question. Too bad even I don't know the answer. "Maybe I like your company too much, Dr. Crane," I suggested, throwing in the mocking prefix in an attempt to convey that he was beginning to sound like my therapist again.

"When was the last time you felt fear, Miss Vale?" He shot back, equally sarcastic but at the same time looking for a genuine response.

The answer popped into my head before I had even reflected upon the question, and the accompanying memories sobered me up a bit. One look into those penetrating blue eyes convinced me not to lie. I wasn't even sure that I wanted to. "Two days ago," I said simply. "When those boys almost raped me."

Crane nodded, unsurprised. "But not yesterday, when Sanders was threatening you?"

"No, I… somehow, I knew… she wouldn't let me get hurt." I felt ashamed saying the words; I didn't want to depend on her for anything. I quickly clarified, "Envy's smart enough to know that if I get hurt, so does she. It's only out of self-interest that she saved me."

"Ah, yes," Crane murmured. "Self-interest… protection… two very _logical_ human instincts… I think that you don't know Envy quite as well as you're going to need to, Tasha. From what you've heard of her, does she sound like the type to be logical? Does she seem human to you?" His voice was derisive.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that sometimes compromises are necessary."

"_No_." I set my jaw, unyielding.

He shrugged. "It's your choice, Tasha, not mine. I'm just telling you the options."

_Options_. I didn't like the sound of that. Before I could get another question out, however, someone called my name from the front of the room. Judy. Was it 4:00 already? I stood slowly, unsure whether to be relieved or annoyed by her sudden appearance. "Over here, Judy."

She trotted over, beaming, and Brian followed quietly behind. "Ready to go?" I stuffed Crime and Punishment back onto the shelf and answered affirmative. "Come on, then!" She started away again, apparently eager to show me the exercise yard.

"Goodbye, Miss Vale," Crane said, his voice almost too polite. I narrowed my eyes at him meaningfully, and an arrogant smile twitched on his lips as he caught my implication. _This isn't over._

"Yeah," I muttered, teeth grinding together slightly in frustration. "Bye."

Enjoy it while you can, Crane. We _will_ talk again.

* * *

The exercise yard was about the size of a small baseball field. Tall, concrete walls towered over each of the four sides; impenetrable. Still, it was better than I expected. It would do just fine for laps, and that was all I cared about.

"What do you think?" Judy asked enthusiastically.

"It's exactly what I need. Thanks, Judy."

"Like I said, it's no problem. So, anyway, Brian's gonna stay out here with you, and there are three more guards around in case anything should happen. You okay?"

"Yep. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't wait to get some exercise!"

Judy laughed. "I'll leave you to it, then. Have fun!" She departed, tossing a friendly wave over her shoulder as Arkham swallowed her back up again.

I got right to work with stretching and warming up, while Brian stood awkwardly beside me. I'd learned the hard way what neglected warm-ups and cool-downs could do to a person, so I took my sweet time with the stretching. Brian quickly got bored, and I caught him staring longingly at the other guards several times. Rolling my eyes, I snapped my fingers in front of his face and was rewarded by his look of surprise and embarrassment.

"Brian, I'll be fine. Go hang out with your guard friends. I don't mind, really." He started to protest, but I cut him off: "Unless you want to run around this yard with me until we're both ready to collapse, I'd really suggest hanging out with your friends, Brian."

_That_ shut his weak protests up, and he even gave me a grateful smile. "Thanks." I shooed him away playfully and glanced once more around the yard. There were, at most, only five other inmates loitering around, probably just getting some fresh air. I enjoyed the openness and the solitude, despite the frigid air. It was almost like freedom.

I bolted into a dead sprint.

* * *

I don't know how many times I passed Brian and the other guards. I lost count somewhere around seven. After that first desperate lap, I settled into a more organized jog and tried to keep the same pace for as long as possible. The only problem with that plan would be that I am a _sprinter_. I've been working to improve my endurance for months now, but… apparently I wasn't working hard enough.

It wasn't long before my lungs started to burn from the combination of cold air and exercise. To keep my mind off the pain, I mentally went over my "run-in" with Crane and started compiling a list of questions I intended to drill him with the next time I saw him. That was when I finally got it.

Stopping dead in my tracks, I thought it over one more time. I was right. That jerk had played me! The _one thing_ that I had truly needed to know was what Envy had said while she was out yesterday. I had _pleaded_ with him to tell me, for God's sake! And he played me like a fool; leading me in one direction and then another with tempting hints that never actually amounted to any information at all.

What had I learned today? Beyond the fact that Crane was a sneaky, manipulative bastard – not much. Bits and pieces. He had gotten even more information out of me, and I still knew next to nothing about him.

"DAMMIT!" I screamed, bursting back into an angry sprint. The word echoed around the yard mockingly and I set my jaw, pushing my legs still faster. "Fine, Crane," I whispered to myself. "If that's the way you want to play it, I'm game. Just see how much more you'll get out of me. I dare you."

The door to the exercise yard burst open at that moment, and my father hurried out. "Tasha!" He called, voice frantic with worry. I sighed inwardly; was this going to be a regular occurrence? Changing directions, I cut across the center of the yard and sprinted into his arms. "I thought I heard you scream," he whispered, hugging me tightly. Behind him, I noticed Brian approaching as well, worry on his face.

"It was nothing," I told them both. "I was just frustrated, that's all."

"I know, sweetie." Dad rubbed my back soothingly, sounding choked up himself. "Being in this situation isn't easy. I'm so proud of you. My little girl's turned into a strong young woman."

I smiled vaguely. Perfect. Let them think I was frustrated by my _situation_. I knew that if I told my dad the frustration was stemming from a guy, he'd probably assume that I was pregnant and beat Crane to a bloody pulp. And – as amusing as this thought was – I couldn't let that happen. If anyone was going to kill Crane, it was going to be me.

* * *

**Author Note:**

**Wow, I can't believe how quickly I got this next chapter out! And "FF dot net" actually let me upload without a problem this time! Wonders never cease! (Yes, that was a quote from Red Eye, for all you Cillian Murphy fans.)**

**Unfortunately, "FF dot net" is NOT letting me do review replies or PMs at the moment. It was killing me, getting all of these wonderful reviews and not being able to answer them! So, I'd like to dedicate this space to jokerfest, juicycouturevalerie, IHeartTheBlackParade, 555LordBacon666, Selene Ruby Rose Snape, chargersbabe, Devryn, Jaime Snyder, LV4wat, hornofgondor2, sendcassie, medicated memories, and arquero333.**

**Jokerfest - Thank you especially for the amazingly long review! I'm sorry to hear about your issues with - it's just a bitch to everyone, huh? =( Thank you so much for your idea! You were one of the first to suggest anything. ^^ And it is perfectly alright to consider evil people cute. It just adds to the intrigue, I think. XD Thanks again!**

** Insanities . Epistemologist - First off, your name is spaztastic (even if it IS a bitch to spell)! Also, thank you so much for your suggestions! Your pairing idea is right-on. Just a hint. ;-) If you have anything more to add, please feel free to tell me. I love all new ideas!**

**Medicated Memories - Hurray for Joker/OC/Crane triangles! Let me just tell you, your review made my day. I inspire you?? I've read both of your fics, and THEY helped inspire ME to write this! I guess we're just gonna have to go on inspiring each other, then! =D**

**Thanks again, all of you! You're what make this worthwhile! =)**

**P.S. New ideas are still welcome!  
**

* * *


	5. Double Edged Swords

**Chapter 4: Double-Edged Swords**

Saturday: a break from school, a chance to hang out with friends, a day of much rejoicing. Here at Arkham, it pretty much boils down to an extra hour of sleep and an afternoon free of commitment. All therapy sessions must be complete before lunch, and then the inmates that have apparently behaved well over the past week are given leave to do… anything they want, really, as long as it isn't against the rules. Personally, I think Saturdays are more of a treat for the doctors – a couple hours of work and they're free to go. Lucky bastards.

The good news is that group therapy had to be shortened to half an hour! So, after a quick shower (only 8 minutes this time) and an even quicker breakfast, I found myself once again in Therapy Room, 12b. The atmosphere was slightly more alive than usual; everyone was excited to have the afternoon off. Even Dr. Fischer's voice didn't seem quite so monotonous as he explained what we were doing today:

"Well, group, I think we made some excellent progress yesterday. And, seeing as today's session is only half an hour long, I thought we could take this time to have some fun and get to know each other. Going off of yesterday's discussion on enjoyments and hobbies, I'd like you all to try keeping up a steady stream of questions and answers amongst yourselves. Try to focus on the _positives_. For example, I might ask Bart what his favorite color is. He'd answer me, and then ask someone else a question. Etcetera, etcetera. Jared, why don't you start us off?"

"Um, okay… uh… Bart, what _is_ your favorite color?"

Bart's voice was bored as he replied, "Dark green. Kim, what's your favorite animal?"

"A… dolphin. Tasha, what's your favorite… erm… flavor of lip-gloss?"

"Mm… Strawberry Holiday."

And so on, and so forth. We were all a little self-conscious at first, unsure whether or not the others would be answering truthfully or sarcastically. After a little while, however, we started getting more into it and the pace picked up. The conversation flew between Bart, Jared, Kim, and me. Nobody bothered asking Miguel a question – we'd pretty much given up on getting him to talk. Dr. Fischer's pen scrambled over his notepad as he tried to keep up with the random little facts that were being thrown out from each of us.

Nearing the end of the half hour, things were going so smoothly and quickly that everyone was feeling quite bold. The questions became sillier and sillier; we were all having a great time. Even Miguel seemed to be listening intently, appearing to almost be enjoying himself… I made a spur of the moment decision.

"Miguel," I said without missing a beat. "What's your favorite food?"

And – just like I had hoped – Miguel was so caught up in the game that he had forgotten himself. His very first word in group therapy was, "Tamales." A collective intake of breath passed like a sigh through the room, and Miguel started to stiffen as he realized that he had broken his protective silence.

Not wanting to lose him so quickly, I asked, "What are they?"

I guess he knew that the harm was already done. He had slipped up; he was touchable again. Resigned, he muttered in a slight Mexican accent, "It's masa with meat and chilis… cooked in corn husks... steamed." He bobbed his head uncomfortably, and I gave him a bright smile.

"They sound interesting! I think I need to try one sometime. Have any of you ever had one?" I looked questioningly at the others.

"I have," Jared volunteered. "It was okay. Pity no one told me that you were supposed to take the corn husk off first, though." Miguel thought that this was hilarious, and Jared blushingly recounted the story to us. We were all howling with laughter by the end, and the session concluded with everyone being in a very good mood.

Still chuckling, the others went on to lunch while I chose to go directly to the rec room. It was more crowded than usual, but where else are you supposed to go when you have free time here? Most of the inmates were clustered around the TV – a bunch of the tables from the center space had even been pulled over for them to sit on. A good number of guards loitered in groups at that end of the room, but the library end was still pretty quiet. Only five or so inmates were hanging out there. One of them was leaning against the wall and blatantly flipping through one of the pornographic magazines; I studied his face carefully so that I could identify him later and avoid him at all costs. A second glance at the other four brought me the information I needed: Crane was there, browsing the bookshelves with that casual elegance of his. _Let the games begin._ Setting my face into an all-business expression, I marched up determinedly behind him and grabbed his arm. He stiffened and glared at me; had I caught him off-guard? Cool.

"We need to talk," I said simply, seizing a firm hold of his orange sleeve and tugging him over to a more secluded corner. A conveniently empty table was situated there, and I took great delight in shoving Crane so hard that he stumbled and banged his leg against it. He turned around with a murderous gleam in those blue eyes of his, and I smiled charmingly back. It was painfully obvious to me that my aggressive strategy had only worked so far because he hadn't been expecting it. He knew it too, which is probably why he restrained himself from attacking me then and there.

"So, Crane," I began conversationally, keeping my voice light and smug. "There's a game that I've been wanting to play with you for a while now. You may have heard of it before. It's called Twenty Questions. I ask, you answer. Here, I'll even start off easy for you: what did Envy say to make Scarecrow come out?"

Crane gave me a tight-lipped smile, and his voice was deceptively soft when he replied, "I was under the impression that it was only yes or no questions allowed in that game."

"It's funny, doc, but… considering the whole fear toxin, experimenting on patients, smuggling drugs thing… I never really pegged you as a guy who cared much for the rules anyway. So, here's a piece of advice… suck it up." Anger distorting his pretty features, Crane lunged at me, his hands reaching for my throat. I was ready for him – hell, I had been provoking him for this very purpose! It made me feel surprisingly powerful to know that I had such an effect on him. I had caused the infamous Crane to lose control.

Jumping backwards quickly, away from his reaching hands, I giggled with exhilaration as his lunge set him off-balance. After a second, Crane both regained his footing and remembered himself; his indifferent mask slipped back into place. Relaxing his tense position, he leaned comfortably against the table to give anyone watching the impression that we were just having a friendly chat.

Perhaps a bit overconfident with my position, I simply couldn't resist goading him. (I was having way too much fun with this.) Stepping forward until it was I who was now invading _his_ space, I mocked, "Let's try that again, why don't we?" He raised his eyebrows disdainfully, as if to say that there was no way in hell that he'd ever answer to me… but, in spite of himself, I could see the slight curiosity in his eyes. It was getting easier to read him. That knowledge alone should have sent me running. Instead, I leaned closer. "What did she say to you, Crane? I want to know _exactly_ what Envy did to bring Scarecrow out. Was it insults? threats? compliments?" The last was derisive.

There was something about Crane's consequent silence that set me on edge. Somehow, I knew that there was a real reason (besides just wanting to piss me off) behind his refusal to answer the question. Envy had done something to bring out Scarecrow – something that Crane didn't want me to know about. For one terrifying moment, I tried to think like she would. If words hadn't succeeded in getting what she wanted, what else could she do to provoke a response out of Crane? But he was right; I didn't know Envy well enough to try and think the way she did. I settled instead for the over-all picture, and asked myself the vague question, 'What could a girl do to provoke a guy?' Taken out of context, I realized that such a question could be construed in a very different manner than it was meant. Because that wording made it sound almost… sexual.

_Shit_. She did not. She wouldn't _dare_. Only… she would, though. That was what made her so dangerous. Envy must have done or said something sexual to bring Scarecrow out. And in _my_ body, too. That _bitch_.

"Did she touch you, Crane?" I asked quietly, leaning in still closer and watching his face for anything that might give him away. The sound of my voice surprised me – that low, breathy purr could not possibly belong to me. But there was no fog; I was in control. I pushed my misgivings away and continued, "Is that it?" Crane's face never changed, but he swallowed involuntarily, and my eyes moved to watch his Adam's apple bob slightly with the motion. _Gotcha_. "It is, isn't it?"

We were so close that our breaths mingled; both of us were breathing slightly faster than usual. I had long since invaded his personal space in a silent demand that he submit. But the annoying bastard had barely moved an inch, refusing to back down. With his jaw clenched and fire in those penetrating blue eyes, can you blame me for being turned on? Damn. This battle for domination stuff was a real double-edged sword.

"That's enough," Crane said suddenly, shoving past me to put a few feet between us. His voice shook the tiniest bit even though his distant expression never changed. I knew that I had succeeded in getting to him, and he knew it too. In an obvious attempt to cover up his slip by distracting me, Crane decided to tell me what I wanted to know (and in the most scornful way possible, of course). "Tell me, Tasha, does this sound familiar?" The air quotes around his next sentence were palpable as he quoted harshly, "_If Scarecrow doesn't have the balls to come out and face me, then I guess he isn't worth meeting after all._"

"That Envy," I chuckled without much humor. "She sure has a way with words, huh?" No answer. "You know, Crane, I have to say… that was a lot of trouble you gave me for one little question. Are you sure there isn't more to it than that?"

His voice was hard as he answered, "Quite sure."

"If you say so," I responded pleasantly, making a mental note to come back to that question later. "Well, then… what did Scarecrow, the Joker, and Envy need to talk about so desperately?"

Crane looked away and responded vaguely, "I believe Gotham was discussed… among other things."

Trying not to let my impatience leak into my voice, I snapped, "What _about_ Gotham?"

"About… what it meant to them."

"And what did it mean?"

"As I recall, Envy equated it to a toy."

"Okay, what were the _other things_ you mentioned?"

"The Batman... and gravity."

Crane was doing this on purpose – his snide little way of getting back at me, no doubt. Like I was really going to stand for that. I was the one in control here, damn it! Striding forward, I grasped Crane's chin roughly and jerked it around to face me; the position was amusingly reminiscent of the one that he had put me into only yesterday. How the tables had turned.

"What's the matter, doc?" I crooned in response to his death glare. "I just wanna see those pretty blue eyes of yours." Shit, there it was again. That mischievous, teasing voice was definitely _not_ my own. And that was definitely _not_ what I had meant to say to him! _Pretty blue eyes_? Where the hell had that come from? Angrily, I tightened my grip and let my fingernails dig into his skin without breaking it. "I'm only going to ask you this once, Crane, and there will be hell to pay if I don't get the answer I'm looking for. What lasting _significance_ did that meeting hold for Envy, Scarecrow, and the Joker? What was the_ point_?"

Crane's facial muscles flexed beneath my fingers as he smiled at me condescendingly. "And you say that _I_ beat around the bush."

I never even saw it coming. One moment, I was on top of the world, demanding compliance from one of Gotham's most dangerous criminals. The next second, my hand had been ripped away from Crane's face and twisted painfully. My automatic response was to alleviate the pressure in my wrist by turning the way he was twisting. As soon as I was facing the right way, he pushed me against the table with so much force that I started to fall back onto it. Crane grabbed me before I made impact, however, and pulled me roughly into a sitting position upon the table while he situated himself so that he was cutting off my only escape route.

Crane stared down at me for several long moments and I glared right back, silently daring him to do his worst. Imagine my surprise when all he said was, "You have much to learn, Miss Vale, on the subtle art of intimidation. However, it was a valiant effort, and I respect that. So, I'm going to tell you this: you want to know what the _point_ was of that little get-together two days ago?" I nodded dumbly. "_Alliances_, Tasha. A truce between the three most infamous patients in Arkham. You're just along for the ride. Weren't you listening to what I told you yesterday? It's not all about you."

Well, shit. An alliance between Envy, Scarecrow, and the Joker? That sounded… very exciting. And also potentially fatal. I had no idea what to say.

"What, no more questions?" Crane asked sardonically. "I think you still have a few left. Or don't you want to play anymore?"

Jerk. He knew just how to get on my nerves, thanks to his stupid psychiatry training. And since he had no morals to speak of, nothing existed to stop him from using his little tricks on me. Voice oozing with false sweetness, I answered, "And what about you, Crane? _You're just like me_. Just along for the ride. What do _you_ want from this?" Now he was the one who didn't know what to say, and I noted vaguely that his fingers had begun trembling again.

"Am I – uh – _interrupting_ something?"

I flinched in surprise, not expecting to hear _that_ voice again so soon, and my eyes flew up to the Joker's painted face. When the hell did he get here? That man was a freaking ninja! Licking his lips mischievously, the Joker suggested, "A little lovers' spat, per-_haps_?"

As usual, his voice grated on my ears, and I spat in aggravation, "If I said yes, would you have the decency to give us some space?"

The grin slid off his lips as if it had never been there. "What's got _you_ all riled up today, Tash-a? It's Saturday! You should be _smiling_!" He fixed a smile back onto his own face as if he hoped that I would imitate him and smile back. Yeah, right. "Besides, do I really seem like a _decent_ guy to you, princess? Decency is _relative_ – it's just a _concep_-t. This world isn't decent. So, uh, why should I be?"

There was absolutely no way in hell that I was going to get dragged into a discussion of right versus wrong by a psychopath in clown make-up. Not happening, sorry. I had to get out of there, and fast – preferably _before_ Envy could come out. "Good question, but you're asking the wrong person. Crane's the analytical thinker here. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

I slipped off the table and made a break for freedom. Unfortunately, I was right about the Joker being a ninja – geez, that guy can _move_! His hand shot out like a snake and caught my wrist, yanking me back against the table. "Leaving so _soon_? Come on, Tash-a, you know you're happy to see me!" I answered him with a mutinous silence and shot a sideways glance at Crane, who was watching quietly in his usual detached manner. This look didn't escape the Joker's vigilant eye. "Aw, looking to little _Jonny_ for help? Ya know… you _could_ just let Envy out. Let _her_ deal with me. I'm not the, uh, easiest guy to get along with, I know." I stared at his scars helplessly, mesmerized by the way they moved when he spoke. "Don't get me wrong, Tasha," Joker continued. "It's not that I like her _better_ than you… we just have some – _business_ – that needs discussing. Nothing personal."

"So you really _are_ working together now?" I asked mechanically. "You and Envy and Scarecrow?"

"You sound so… disappointed!" The Joker commented lightly. "Doesn't it make you happy to know we've – ah – _got_ your back? Doesn't it just make you feel so – _safe_?"

"Not particularly."

To my intense surprise and discomfort, the Joker draped his arm casually over my shoulders. I could feel his body heat radiating off of him in waves, as if he had some sort of fever. "We're not gonna _hurt_ ya, Tash-a," he drawled, choosing to ignore my sudden stiffness. Then he checked himself, "Well, _may_-be just a _little_. But you're more fun alive than dead, so you can, uh, relax. I'm a man of my wor-_d_." How reassuring. "So, whaddya say? Can we be – _friends_?" His arm around me tightened just enough to make me wince, warning me to think carefully before answering.

"Okay," I replied cautiously. That must have been the right answer, because the Joker grinned and retracted his arm in satisfaction. "What do you want from me, then?"

He threw back his head and laughed, scars stretching grotesquely as his mouth opened wide. "Want? _Want_? What would I _want_ from you, hm, Tasha? No – no, no – all that I _want_ is for you to keep being your _entertaining_ little self. That's not, uh, too much to ask, I think?" I shook my head mutely, and he rewarded me with a pat on the cheek (a bit harder than was necessary, but that's just how he rolls). Unexpectedly, the thought struck me that my head wasn't hurting anymore. That was strange… it always seemed to be hurting when the Joker was around.

My inner musings were cut abruptly short by an angry voice snapping, "Hey! Keep your hands off my daughter!" Surprised, I looked up and groaned as I noticed my father striding over rapidly. How the hell was I supposed to explain the Joker's little cheek touch to _him_? I didn't fully understand it myself!

Getting up to intercept my seething father, I advised Joker and Crane simply, "You two may want to disappear… like, _now_." I didn't stick around to see if they followed my suggestion. Instead, I hurried over to my dad and gave him a tight hug – effectively buying them some time to melt into the crowd of orange uniforms and blend. Before you ask, I have no idea why I felt the need to protect them. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time. Was I really naïve enough to believe Joker's bullshit about being friends? _Maybe_.

"Who was that, Tasha?" Dad demanded, finally pulling away from the hug. I guess he hadn't seen the Joker's face make-up, thank God. That might have gotten violent.

"Nobody. It was nobody. Just a new… friend of mine, I guess." He didn't believe me, but before the interrogation could ensue, a miracle occurred:

"Tasha!"

"What's up, babe?"

"Hey, girl!"

"How are you?"

My friends pressed in around me, bombarding me with hugs and questions while unknowingly protecting me from what might have been a long and unpleasant cross-examination. I smiled and laughed with them, coaxing them all into a group hug and strategically worming my way into the middle. That's how it stayed for the next few hours: I caught up on all the latest goings-on and gossip of Wayne High, and my father remained awkwardly off to the side. He was a stubborn man – accustomed to getting what he wants. I dreaded the time when my friends had to leave, because I knew that he'd be on me again the second they left.

As it turned out, I needn't have worried. My father had been the one to give them all a ride here, so when the rec room closed, he had to leave with them. Much to my surprise, he didn't even mention the incident in passing. He just gave me a hug and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Tasha" with a tired, troubled look on his face.

I lay awake in bed that night, long after the lights were out. Guilt gnawed relentlessly at my insides, and even the white walls couldn't seem to suck it away. I must have passed out eventually. In my dreams, my father's troubled face stared back at me while the Joker's wild laughter echoed in the background…

* * *

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**I must apologize for the lack of... action in this chapter. My focus was more on character development than plot development this time. It was technically a filler chapter that I just thought needed to happen. I tried to make it as interesting as possible... sorry if it wasn't. On the bright side, the next chapter is already in-progress! SPOILER: the Joker will play a greater role in the next chapter. =)**

**I feel the need to clarify a few things, for any people who care. I have received multiple requests for the Joker to have a bigger part, and I do have an explanation for his lack of involvement thus far:**

**I am trying to keep this fanfiction as realistic as possible. It is only logical for the Joker to be kept in one of the more high-security cells, where he would be more isolated from the rest of the patients. Crane, who conducts himself in a less "turbulent" manner than the Joker, would most likely be kept in a middle-security cell. Therefore, he would see more of Tasha (who resides in a minimum-security cell) than the Joker would. Does that make sense?**

**Much love to everyone who reviewed! You guys make me so happy! I'm so sorry that I still can't respond to any of you... I swear, this site holds a grudge against me. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Keep reading! ^^**

**

* * *

  
**


	6. Bloody Sunday

**Chapter 5: Bloody Sunday**

I woke in a cold sweat to the lovely sound of my door screeching open violently. What a way to start the day, huh? And it only got better after that.

"Get up!" A scratchy female voice barked, startling me to my feet. For some reason, there was a squat, irate-looking woman standing by my door and tapping her foot impatiently. Disoriented and still half asleep, my brain was slow to process the situation and – as a result – I missed the middle-aged nurse's next words.

"Wuzzat?" I mumbled, rubbing all traces of sleep from my eyes. The nurse's scowl deepened; apparently she didn't like to repeat herself.

"It's shower time," she snapped. "Hurry up." Her voice was raw and abrasive, as if she had smoked a pack a day for the past forty years. Maybe she had. Bewildered, I allowed myself to be steered down the hallway and into the communal shower room. Where in the world were Judy and Brian?

As soon as I had finished undressing, the nurse ("Rita," according to her nametag) shoved me under one of the nozzles that hadn't finished warming up yet. I yelped, even more uncomfortable than usual, but the cold water jogged my memory. Today was Sunday. Most of the regular personnel took Sundays off, so there was a temporary staff that only came in on those days. Judy had mentioned this to me yesterday, and it was now clear why she had spoken of it in such an apologetic tone.

After a record-setting five-minute shower, I threw on my uniform and was led back to my room as usual. Forty-five minutes later, I was starting to wonder if they had forgotten about me. My breakfast should have definitely been here by now. Rita returned at long last, but my breakfast tray was nowhere to be seen.

"Come on," the nurse grunted, gesturing for me to follow her.

More confused than ever, I obeyed. Once we were out in the hallway, I asked hesitantly, "Where are we going?"

Rita glared at me, as if I had just asked a stupid question on purpose just to bait her. "The cafeteria."

I stopped walking right away, and the guard behind me muttered a curse as he almost ran into me. "I eat in my room."

"Mm-hm, sure, hun," Rita agreed condescendingly, taking my arm firmly into her claw-like hands and tugging me along down the hallway. I shuddered inwardly at both her pet name and her touch; both repulsed me. She was obviously going for grandmotherly, but she clearly had very little practice with acting soothing and familiar.

"No, you don't understand," I insisted, planting my feet as well as I could on the slippery tiles. "I _always_ eat breakfast in my room."

"That's nice." Rita irritably continued her tugging.

Unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice, I snapped, "Would you please just listen to me? My father's-"

But Rita didn't want to listen. "Look, missy," she said crossly, causing me to wince at the second use of a pet name. "Do you really think I was born yesterday? Think you can pull a fast one on me, just because I'm not here as often as your other caretakers? Trick me into giving you the special treatment? Not gonna happen. So if you want breakfast, I suggest you pick up the pace and lose the attitude. Are we clear?"

I muttered an assent, since there wasn't much else I could do, and followed her sullenly into the cafeteria. Like almost every other room in this place, the color scheme was all white, gray, and tan. The orange inmate uniforms stood out luridly against the bland background, while the white nurse and guard uniforms blended neatly in. It was pretty crowded; I was one of the only ones not to have gotten breakfast yet.

As soon as I was in the short waiting line, Rita and the guard ditched me in favor of socializing with the other Sunday staff. I surveyed the room again, searching without much hope for a friendly or familiar face. More than a few men were openly sizing me up, which only served to make me more uncomfortable.

Someone touched my shoulder, and I stiffened with dread. Would an inmate really try to get away with harassing me in here? Yes. Next question: would this shitty Sunday staff do anything about it? I wasn't so sure of the answer. Turning my head slowly, I pinned the person behind me with a fierce glare… that quickly melted away into an open smile of relief when I saw that it was only Jared, from group therapy.

"Hey, Tasha," he greeted, seeming more alive than usual now that it was mealtime.

"Jared!" I exclaimed happily. "Boy, am I glad to see you." He blushed, apparently unused to females being happy to see him. "I've never eaten in the cafeteria before," I confessed. "I usually eat in my room, but this bitchy Sunday staff won't listen to me."

"Oh," Jared said awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

"Eh, no biggie. I'm just glad that I have someone to sit with now." I turned to smile at him, but then the fat cook yelled at me to hurry up. I obligingly accepted a Styrofoam tray from him and continued down the line, where I was handed an additional Styrofoam cup and a small Ziploc of plastic utensils. While waiting for Jared to catch up, I made sure to snag a few napkins – the mess on my tray looked like it was going to need it.

"So, where should we sit?" I asked when he had his breakfast. He gestured with his head (since both his hands were full) and led the way down the aisle.

"I usually sit over here with Bart and Miguel," he explained. "People in the same therapy groups tend to sit together, 'cause… well, it's always nice to see a familiar face."

"I feel you there," I agreed, plopping down on the seat next to his. "Hey Bart, Miguel. What's up?"

Bart mumbled a hello through a mouthful of white mush, and Miguel simply nodded. I dropped my eyes to my tray and examined the food. My guess was that the white, watery slop was some sort of oatmeal, and there was a soggy piece of toast on the side. How appetizing. Still, what was the harm in trying it? I loaded up my plastic spoon with mush and stared at it for a long moment. "Well," I said finally, "here goes nothing."

It wasn't bad. In fact, it didn't taste like anything much at all. Well, bland is still better than repulsive in my book. I took another bite, and noticed that the others were staring at me. "What?"

Bart shrugged and grinned. "We were all betting you'd be more squeamish, that's all. Pampered teenage girl and all that – nothing personal. You're tougher than I thought, little lady."

"I try." For dramatic emphasis, I downed another bulging spoonful. While chewing, I absently resumed my previous perusal of the cafeteria tables and wondered aloud, "Where's Kim?"

Bart nodded to a table on the far side of the room, his upper lip curling into a cold sneer. Confused by his response, I followed his gaze. Kim was sitting near the middle of a more crowded table – the only woman, surrounded by a large group of men – and was blatantly flirting with each and every one of them. "Easy there, Kim," I murmured, turning away from the sad sight.

"Slut," Bart muttered contemptuously. I neither agreed with him nor defended her; taking sides in this place was a dangerous thing. Instead, I continued my inspection of the cafeteria, and my eyes caught suddenly on a familiar face: dark hair, glasses, nose in a book… Crane was sitting alone only one table over, being his usual anti-social self.

I winced, thinking back to yesterday's interesting power struggle. He had won, but I had gotten the information that I was after. So… what now? Were we friends? Did Crane even _have_ friends? For whatever reason, I didn't want him mad at me. Besides, he could still be useful for keeping tabs on Envy.

Eh, what the hell? No harm in asking for a truce. "I'll be right back, guys," I told the others, standing up as inconspicuously as I could manage while wearing bright orange. But not inconspicuously enough.

I barely made it a foot before Rita's scratchy voice protested, "Hey!" Crane glanced up at the noise and our eyes met for a second before Rita stepped in my way. "What do you think you're doing?" She demanded. "Breakfast isn't over yet!"

Resisting the urge to glare at her (barely), I asked, "Are you saying that it's against the rules to visit friends at other tables?"

Her only response was, "Sit down."

"But I was just-"

"Sit down!"

Seething, I lowered myself back into my seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Rita resuming a slow walk down the aisle. _Trip her._ Oh God, I wanted to… _Then do it. _I'd get in trouble. _Tasha, now!_ The temptation was too strong; I caved and shifted my foot back discreetly just as she was passing by. Her foot connected with mine and she crashed heavily to the floor. Anyone who hadn't been watching before was most definitely paying attention now. Several inmates didn't even bother to muffle their derisive laughter.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, all innocence and surprise. "I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

Rita's face was a splotchy red as she pushed herself off the floor, and her lips were thin with barely suppressed fury. "I think you've had enough breakfast," she said quietly.

I smiled up at her pleasantly and shoved my tray back a few inches. "I wasn't hungry anyway."

"Well, then, you won't object to skipping lunch either," she replied, voice trembling with anger. I couldn't stop the grin that attached itself to my lips; Rita was _so_ gonna get it when my dad heard about this. It would be so easy to twist this story to my advantage – all that I'd really be hiding from him is the fact that I _did_, in fact, mean to trip her. No regrets there. _She deserved it._

My amused smile in response to her punishment only served to rile Rita up further. "In fact," she hissed, "I think skipping all meals today would do you good. Get up."

"But you just told me to sit down," I reminded her sweetly. Her beefy hand latched onto my arm and tightened. _The tray. Get the tray_. I grabbed the remnants of my breakfast just as Rita tugged me forcibly from my seat. Stumbling towards her, I instinctively exaggerated my lack of balance so that it didn't look quite so suspicious when I dumped my tray on her. The wet slap of oatmeal against starched fabric was remarkably satisfying. Rita's accompanying squeak of anger and disgust didn't make me feel so bad either.

"I'm so sorry!" I gasped, not quite succeeding in keeping the delight out of my voice. "How clumsy of me! Here, let me get you some napkins!" I turned back to the table swiftly, and a sudden wave of dizziness clouded my vision.

_My turn._

* * *

Envy's hand hovered over the napkins that her other half had been reaching for, and she quickly took charge of the situation. A mostly-full oatmeal tray caught her eye; that would do nicely. Redirecting the course of her hand, she grabbed the tray and smacked it firmly into the nurse's face. The whole room seemed to hold its breath as the Styrofoam tray slid down Rita's face, leaving behind a trail of disgusting white residue.

"Oops," Envy giggled. "My bad."

That was all it took. Rita cracked, lunging for another tray of oatmeal. _So predictable._ Envy saw the tray coming from a mile away and had plenty of time to move. With a sickening splat, it connected with a burly inmate's shoulder. As luck would have it, this very inmate happened to be a paranoid schizophrenic with anger management issues. Incensed, he chucked his own plate back at Rita, but it flew wide and hit another inmate.

And that was how the great food fight of Arkham Asylum began. Highly pleased with herself, Envy slipped away from the crowd to admire her handiwork from afar. Crane appeared to have had the same idea; he was leaning against the wall at a safe distance. Grinning widely, Envy sauntered up to him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" She remarked, watching the guards and nurses unsuccessfully try to put down the frenzy. "The way such a controlled environment can get so quickly out of hand… it's just _crazy_."

Fights were starting to break out now all over the cafeteria – the inmates had run out of things to throw, but they didn't want the fun to end just yet. They fought with guards, nurses, and each other. There was no logic to it. There didn't need to be.

Envy glanced at Crane expectantly, waiting for some kind of response to the lovely display of anarchy before him. When he gave none, she recalled, "Oh, that's right; you don't go for chaos, do you? I forgot… you prefer _fear_… It's a shame the Joker isn't here to see this. He'd appreciate it, I'm sure."

"And which do you prefer, Envy?" His calm voice in the midst of all this discord intrigued her. Even now, he was subtly attempting to coax information out of her, and it excited her to no end. She had chosen well.

"Oh, anything works," Envy responded lightly. "Though, I must admit, I've been running solely on chaos for a while now. A little fear _would_ be nice…" She trailed off, thoughtful, and continued to watch the show. The crowd of inmates shifted for a moment, and she caught a glimpse of Rita (the oatmeal was drying into a nauseating crust on her face) screaming for order. Suddenly eager, Envy pushed herself off the wall. "That gives me an idea… see you later, Jonny!"

Crane tensed at the nickname and an expression of loathing stole over his face. "Don't call me that." The open threat in his voice was so sexy that Envy just had to turn back.

"Aw, what's the matter?" She cooed, taking pleasure in the electric taste of his anger. "Is the big, bad Scarecrow's ego hurting? Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"Envy," he said warningly, causing her to shiver with desire. She could get used to hearing him say her name, especially in that dangerous tone of voice.

"Yes?"

"Don't call me that either."

Envy huffed out a breath, ruffling her bangs in the process. Was he this picky about everything? Though, on second thought, being mistaken for Natasha Vale was one of her own pet peeves… she'd let it slide. "What's 'Jonny' short for?"

He paused, as if contemplating whether or not to answer. As if he could possibly hide it. "Jonathan."

"Jonathan," Envy repeated experimentally. "_Jon-a-than_… it has a certain charm to it, but I think that I still prefer 'Crane'. Much more mysterious. As I was saying, I'll see you later, Crane. I have some very urgent business that needs tending to, and it really can't wait any longer. So sorry that I can't stay and chat. Enjoy the show without me!"

With a final carefree wave, Envy flounced back to the agitated throng and slipped – unnoticed – through them. The roiling mass of orange uniforms was a perfect cover; she was invisible. Rita never saw it coming, and none of the other guards or nurses saw it at all. The inmates just didn't care.

It was pathetically simple – that's what made it so brilliant. All she had to do was slide right up behind Rita… and bang her head against a table with enough force to knock her out. Then she just dragged the unconscious nurse out of the cafeteria and into the hallway, which was completely deserted because every available guard was trying to put down the food fight. This Sunday staff wasn't worth shit, Envy decided.

Knowing that it was only a matter of time before the inmates were forced to cease their resistance, she had to move quickly. Upon reaching the elevator, she punched the down arrow and stepped impatiently inside as soon as it was open. Propping Rita up against the wall, Envy made a quick search of the woman's pockets and swiftly found the elevator key.

Now came the real question: where did she want to go? The basement caught her eye, but that wouldn't serve her purposes now. Later, perhaps. _Later_. Envy settled for the ground floor – always the best place to start. Besides, she knew this floor a bit better than most others; the rec room was on this level.

The door slid open, and Envy pushed Rita out in front of her while keeping a sharp eye out for any staff members. It was a good thing she did, too: there were two guards approaching with a patient between them, obviously headed for the rec room. By the time they had noticed anything out of place, Envy had already dumped Rita to the floor and darted at them.

As much as Envy enjoyed playing with her food, she couldn't risk it in this situation. If they called for back up, she'd be delayed even further or stopped entirely. That couldn't happen – she had her heart set on this. So she simply knocked the first guard out with a well-placed elbow to the temple, and then she turned for the second… but he was already on the floor, out cold.

"Didn't, uh, expect to see _you_ here so early, Envy."

That voice… she would know that beautifully twisted voice anywhere. Envy looked up and an answering smile spread across her lips to match the one on the Joker's own face. But there was no time for witty banter today, so she kept her response to a minimum. "You wouldn't happen to know on which floor the doctors' offices are, would you?"

The Joker's dark eyes took in Rita's crumpled form, and he quickly caught on. "Follow me, girl-ie," he giggled, starting to lead the way back to the elevator.

"Wait," Envy stopped him and gestured to the unconscious guards. "Help me."

Together, they hauled Rita and the guards into the elevator. Another quick turn of the elevator key and punch of a button, and they were moving again. "Sooo…" The Joker drawled. "Wanna let me in on the joke?"

"You'll figure it out as we go along," Envy returned mischievously. His eyes sparkled with interest and amusement.

"Was that an – ah – _invitation_?"

She smirked. "Only if that's the way you want to take it." The elevator door opened and Envy yanked Rita out, closely followed by the Joker (who kicked the guards out as well). The hallway was completely empty; all doctors had Sundays off, and apparently nobody used this floor but them. How convenient. There were even nice, shiny nameplates on the office doors! These people were just too helpful. "Which doctor do you think would… _appreciate_ my little surprise the most?" Envy asked the Joker thoughtfully.

"Hm… which – one – which – one…" He mumbled under his breath, striding up the aisle and punctuating random steps with little bounces. "Ah-_ha_! This one. This is the one. This is it."

Envy glanced at the nameplate and read, "Dr. Lawrence Foster. Fine with me. Any reasoning behind this choice?"

The Joker tapped his nose and winked at her. "It, uh, just so happens that this – _good_ – doctor… is mine. I've been meaning to give him… a little _thank-you present_ for all the ther-a-py. It's worked _wonders_. I hardly recognize myself anymore!" Envy laughed outright at this, and he laughed with her.

"Do you want to do the honors, or should I?" She asked, motioning toward the door. He grinned.

"Stan-_d_. Back." In one lovely fluid motion, the Joker rammed his body weight against the wood. Like everything else in this place, the door was old and the hinges gave quickly beneath his solid shoulder. "After you, princess." Placing a large, warm hand on the small of her back, he nudged her into the room and then heaved the unconscious employees inside in a less gentle manner. He brought up the rear and carefully pushed the door back into place. Now anyone who happened to enter the hallway wouldn't notice anything amiss.

Envy wasted no time in beginning a thorough search of the desk and drawers for any supplies that might be useful. One of the first useful things that she found was a roll of duct tape, which she tossed to the Joker immediately. "Tie the nurse to a chair, won't you? And duct tape her mouth while you're at it." Chuckling quietly to himself, he obeyed.

The drawers were useless – just a bunch of old files. The desk, however, was pure gold. In it, she found everything that she needed: a blank cassette tape, a tape recorder, an envelope, and some stamps. She even found a sharpened letter opener – it was almost too perfect!

"Well," Envy said after setting up the cassette player and carefully addressing the envelope. "What's it gonna be, Joker? You can either stay here – but only if you promise to be _very_ quiet – or you can go have your own fun with the rest of this floor. The choice is yours."

"Quie-_t_?" The Joker questioned. "Am I, uh, _distracting_ to you, En-vy?"

"Oh, _always_," she purred teasingly. "But what I meant was that if anyone knows that we're… _close_, they'll make sure to keep us away from each other. And I'm afraid I enjoy seeing you too much to let that happen."

The Joker stepped closer, so that there was only the desk between them. "Selfish, selfish," he breathed, leaning in with his hands braced on the desk for support. Envy mimicked this stance and leaned in until their faces were barely three inches apart.

"I'm just _full_ of vices, aren't I?" She whispered back. Unable to help herself, she reached out and ran her fingers through his damp green hair – he must have just taken a shower. The Joker watched her intensely and didn't move once, even as her fingernails scraped his scalp aggressively. "So, what's it gonna be?"

"What do _you_ want me to do, Envy?" He asked huskily, his warm breath brushing against her face. An unexpected rush of desire and longing hit her hard, causing her fingers to twitch in response. At that moment, she wanted him… badly. But her plan, her message! It would all be for nothing if they were caught here! But it would be so worth it…

Suddenly upset with her own indecision, Envy used her grasp on the Joker's hair to yank his head back violently. Pressing her lips against his exposed throat in a rough kiss, she answered harshly, "I want you to make your decision, so that we can get this show on the road. Sound good?"

The Joker chuckled, and Envy could feel his voice box vibrate beneath her cheek. "We-_ll_, I wouldn't want to miss the _show_, now would I?"

"Peachy." She shoved him away from her, all business once again, and approached the unmoving nurse. One good slap to the face brought Rita back to semi-consciousness. "Wakey wakey, sunshine." The woman stared up at her with wide, frightened eyes, and Envy immediately felt better. _There_ was the fear she had been waiting for.

"Now, Rita," Envy began, playing casually with the metal letter opener in her hands. "You and I are going to have a little talk soon. If I like your answers… then I might not hurt you quite so much. Understand?" Blind terror made the nurse thrash about in her seat, letting out stifled moans through the duct tape. "Ah, ah, ah," Envy cautioned, pressing the sharp side of the letter opener against Rita's cheek just hard enough to make her freeze and whimper. "None of that, now. Look over there."

Rita turned her head slowly to look where Envy had said, and she stiffened further when she saw the Joker lounging easily against the wall. He gave her a little wave, and Envy thought for a moment that the nurse was going to pass out again.

"Do you know who that is?" She asked condescendingly, and Rita nodded. "I thought you might. Now, are you going to do what I ask, or do you want me to let _him_ play with you instead?" The nurse's eyes got even rounder, and she shook her head frantically. As much as Envy wanted this submission, it still pissed her off to know that Rita thought the Joker was more frightening than her. But she'd know better soon. _Soon_.

Envy ran a calculating eye over the room and wondered how best to do this. Her gaze fell on the unconscious guards, and her vague ideas began to take shape. "Do either of them have a key to your room?" She asked the Joker swiftly, and he nodded. "Okay. Here's what I need you to do: put on one of the guard uniforms over your inmate clothes. Take your room key. I'm going to give you this…" She produced the elevator key from her pocket and handed it over. "And when I tell you to go, then get your ass into the elevator at the _far side_ of the hallway. I'll be entrusting _this_ to you." Envy held up the addressed envelope. "It's up to you to get it into the outgoing mail pile for inmates, and then make it back to your room without arousing suspicion. With any luck, most of the guards will be busy dealing with _me_, so you shouldn't have too much trouble. But you never know."

"That's – uh – what _this_ is for, princess." The Joker pulled out a gun from one of the guards' belts and twirled it gracefully in his fingers.

"Only if you want to make things more difficult for yourself," she laughed. "That isn't silenced – you'd just be attracting unnecessary attention. But you can do what you want, as long as the result stays the same." He nodded impatiently and started to reach for one of the guards' shirts, but Envy intercepted his hand. "Are you really going to do this for me?" She asked, hating the uncertainty in her voice. Hating him for making her question herself.

The Joker peered closer into her acid-green eyes and must have seen the vulnerability, because he abruptly broke free of her grasp and pinned her against the wall. "I'm letting you have _your_ fun this time, En-_vy_," he explained lightly, but his voice quickly darkened. "Jus-_t_ don't go getting into your pretty – little – _head_ that it's going to be like this all the time. I'm. No-_t_. Tame."

Envy beamed and patted his cheek, in much the same way that he had done to Tasha the previous day. "And _that's_ why I like you so much. Carry on." She pulled away from him gently and turned back to the confused and frightened nurse.

"So, Rita," she resumed brightly. "I'm going to remove your gag now. You know what'll happen if you scream." Envy deftly tore the duct tape from Rita's mouth, delighting in the subsequent whimper of pain as the skin of her lips ripped and started to bleed. "Better?"

Rita spat out a mouthful of blood and hissed, "You're sick. You'll never get away with it."

Before Envy could respond, one of the guards let out a faint moan and stirred. _Thank you for volunteering_. In a flash, she grabbed him from behind and pressed the letter opener to his neck. It was the guard that she herself had knocked out before, but apparently she hadn't hit him hard enough.

"Rita," she said, forcing the nurse to look at her. "I didn't want it to come to this, but you're giving me no choice. I'm only going to say this once: keep up the attitude, and someone's going to get hurt. Got it?" To prove her point, she pricked the edge of her letter opener into the guard's neck just enough to draw blood. Still not quite conscious, the man let out a protesting moan and Rita only hesitated a moment before nodding.

"Good. Oh, and Rita? Just a reminder – if you scream, both you and the other guard will regret it." And with that, Envy slashed the metal across the man's neck, effectively slitting his throat. Caught completely off-guard, Rita let out a strangled choking noise, but she was smart enough not to give full voice to her shock and fear.

After a few moments, she collected herself enough to rasp out, "_Why?_"

"That was your down payment," Envy answered, dropping the dead guard unceremoniously and wiping off the letter opener on his uniform. "So you'd better live up to that promise, hm? Wouldn't want his sacrifice to be in vain, would we?"

Rita shook her head in disbelief and whispered, "You're crazy."

"At least I'm not covered in oatmeal and tied to a chair," she countered sweetly. "Now are you going to behave or not?"

Rita licked her bleeding lips; she was trembling from head to toe. "Yes."

Envy smiled to herself, enjoying the knowledge that this strong woman's spirit had been broken thanks to her. "Wonderful. Why don't we get started, then?"

She glanced back at the Joker, who had finished dressing and looked quite comfortable in the guard uniform. He was watching her intently, an undecipherable gleam in those hooded eyes of his. It made Envy surprisingly proud to know that even he wasn't sure what she had planned, and she grinned at him wickedly. '_Don't speak,_' she mouthed. He saluted her and she giggled in exhilaration.

_Time to play. At last._

Envy switched on the tape recorder.

* * *

"Go!" Envy cried, shoving the envelope into the Joker's hands and pushing him toward the door. "And, for your sake, don't screw this up!"

Laughing wildly, he yanked the door off its hinges and stepped out into the hallway. "Love you too, princess!" He cackled, heading down the aisle for the less-used elevator.

Envy turned back around and surveyed the room. It really was a boring office, but her very presence had _livened_ it up, so to speak. Still, it lacked that certain dramatic emphasis that she prided herself upon… but she knew just how to fix it.

Only a few minutes later, she backed away from the wall with a sense of accomplishment. Everything was perfect, and the guards would be showing up any moment now. It's a shame that she'd be long gone by then.

_You're up, Tasha. I don't need to tell you to sound convincing. I know that you will be._

* * *

I stood in the doorway, disoriented and lost. There was a metallic tang in the air… like rust. Something moved behind me; I turned.

_Blood_.

_Blood everywhere._

I stumbled back with a horrified cry.

_Death_.

There were two bodies on the floor and a third taped to a chair, every one of them cut up and bleeding… Oh God, what _is_ this? I tore my eyes away, gagging and hyperventilating.

_Red on the walls._

_Blood. _

That name – that sick, mocking name was laughing down at me from the wall.

_Envy._

I covered my mouth with my hands, trying not to throw up. My hands felt sticky –I pulled them away again to look. _Blood_. There was blood on my hands again. I screamed.

Something shifted off to the left. Panicked, I whirled around and saw one of the guards stirring feebly. Was he still alive? God, please let him be okay! I raced over and knelt beside him, checking desperately for a pulse. There! It was weak and irregular, but it was there.

The man coughed and his eyes fluttered open. "Help… me…" He whispered, eyes pleading.

"O-okay," I stammered. "Just hold on, it's gonna be okay!" Fumbling with his blood-soaked shirt, I cautiously pulled it up. Engraved, so delicately on his chest…

_Envy_.

I threw myself away from him, another scream wrenching itself from my throat. Scrambling out of the room, I raced blindly down the hallway only to crash into something and fall. Then there were hands on my arms, touching… restraining. I thrashed wildly against them, fear turning me into a mindless animal.

Something cold pricked my arm.

_Envy_.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Again, apologies with how long it took to get this out. I had it ready several days ago, but wouldn't let me upload. I finally had to do it from a different computer, and of course THEN it works...**

**Now, I want your honest opinion on something. This chapter. It was really dark, wasn't it? I felt the need to put this in here... I wanted to remind you all that Envy isn't just some harmless prankster. She's a murderer. Personally, I like this chapter... but I don't intend to have too many that are THIS dark. WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK??**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**ChildOfFate17  
**


	7. Filling in the Blanks

**Chapter 6: Filling in the Blanks**

I swam in and out of consciousness for a long time before my mind finally surfaced from dreamland. As soon as my eyes fluttered open, my father was beside me, speaking my name was such relief that I could only stare up at him vacantly.

"Dad?" My voice cracked. He wordlessly offered me a water bottle, which I drained within a few seconds. I sounded slightly better when I asked, "What's going on?"

He hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. I followed his gaze and was surprised to see that we were not alone: Commissioner Gordon and a doctor I didn't recognize were standing quietly by the door. At my father's questioning look, the doctor stepped forward and smiled down at me diplomatically. "Miss Vale, my name is Dr. Lawrence Foster, and I'm going to be your new therapist."

"Tasha," I corrected without thinking. It sunk in after a moment. No more group therapy? This was… sudden. Something was wrong here. The way they were all staring at me was disconcerting. Hesitantly, I asked, "Did something happen? Why are you all…?"

It suddenly clicked into my sluggish brain that the last thing I could remember clearly was being in the cafeteria with Rita. After that it was just… cloudy. Like I had slipped into some sort of dream or fever-induced hallucination. I had the strange feeling that my dreams hadn't been happy.

There was no doubt in my mind as to what had happened. "Envy came out."

"I'm afraid so," Dr. Foster confirmed absently; he was looking back at Gordon. "She doesn't recognize my name or show any awareness of what has occurred. I would agree with Dr. Melvin's original diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder."

"What did she do?" I asked warily.

Without answering my question, Commissioner Gordon strode forward and held out an envelope for me to see. "Do you recognize this?" It was addressed to GCN Headquarters in an elegant calligraphy that I'd recognize anywhere – only it wasn't in green. How in the world had Envy mailed something to Gotham's news station without getting caught? This was getting ridiculous.

"No," I said hoarsely, shaking my head. "What did she send them?"

"A cassette tape."

I was baffled. "Of _what_?"

"Commissioner!" My father interrupted Gordon before he could respond. "My daughter is recovering from a panic attack! I would appreciate it if you didn't burden her with unnecessary information!"

"Of course," Gordon agreed quickly before changing the subject. "So, what _do_ you remember of yesterday, Miss Vale?"

Before I could reply, Dr. Foster cut in, "Commissioner Gordon, a word with you?" To me, he added comfortingly, "We'll be right back, Tasha." They stepped outside.

I took a slow look around my room and that feeling of disorientation came back. "This isn't my room."

"They moved you to a higher security room, that's all," my father explained, reaching over to hold my hand. "How do you feel, sweetheart? They had to put you under when… you know…"

My tongue felt strangely swollen as I ran it over my dry lips. "Weird," I answered honestly. "Kind of… slow. And hungry." As if to prove my point, my stomach growled fiercely. "_Really_ hungry."

My father leapt up. "I'm so sorry, honey, I forgot! I'll go get you something. What would you like?"

"Anything," I murmured, and he started for the door. His words had reminded me of something, though. "Dad? Does this mean that Judy's not going to be my nurse anymore?" The very thought was horrifying.

He paused, and I saw a spasm of anguish cross his face at the distress in my voice. "I'll see what I can do." After he was gone, Dr. Foster and Commissioner Gordon came back in. Gordon pulled a chair over to my bedside and sat heavily, as if this was all very exhausting to him. _Join the club._

"Tasha," Dr. Foster said kindly. "The commissioner would like to ask you a few questions. If you feel uncomfortable or upset at any point, please let me know. I'll be right over here in the corner, okay?" I nodded and attempted to smile at him, but that pretty much failed.

"So… Tasha," Commissioner Gordon began again; his honest voice was gentle. "Would you mind telling me what you remember of yesterday?"

I dully recounted all that I could, starting with Rita's rude awakening and finishing with my panic attack once Envy had retreated into me again. Commissioner Gordon was a very good audience – he nodded and murmured sympathetically at all the right points, and I think he was even hiding a smile when I confessed to dumping oatmeal on Rita. The part that interested both of them the most, however, was the voice in my head that had started it all.

"You are _quite sure_ that this voice truly said '_my turn_' right before Envy took over? Implying that it was actually Envy who goaded you into tripping the nurse Rita?" Dr. Foster asked for the third time. "Because no one is going to think any less of you if it was truly your idea, Tasha. I believe anyone can admit that Rita deserved to be tripped and have oatmeal thrown on her. Are you _absolutely positive_-"

"I'm not making this up, doctor. I know what I heard."

Dr. Foster jotted something down on his notepad before reestablishing eye contact with me. "It appears, unfortunately, that Envy has more control over you than you do over her. We will work on this during our daily sessions from now on. In the meantime, if Envy begins to speak to you again, please inform one of the guards at once. This may be the only warning we have before she comes out again. Do you understand?"

I nodded, and he patted me on the shoulder.

"We'll get this straightened out, don't you worry," he promised, before turning to shake hands with Commissioner Gordon. "Jim. Good to see you."

"Same to you, Lawrence. And thank you for…" Gordon's eyes strayed to me and he backtracked. "Well, thank you for everything."

"Any time. I'll see you tomorrow, Tasha. Hopefully you'll be feeling better by then."

I muttered a low "thanks" and Dr. Foster departed, notepad and all. Gordon and I stared at each other for a moment, and then we both started talking at once.

"Miss Vale, I believe-"

"Commissioner, please-"

We stopped talking at the same time, and I chuckled weakly. He motioned for me to go first. This was like some sort of awkward first date from hell – only we weren't romantically inclined and he was already married and we were in Arkham Asylum. _Okay, forget that analogy…_

"Look, Commissioner," I began again. "I know my father doesn't want you to tell me anything, but I want to know. Well, I don't really _want_ to know, but I feel like I need to. It's my life, and I don't deserve to be kept in the dark. Please. Dad doesn't have to know."

I thought I had made a pretty convincing argument, but Gordon was already shaking his head by the time I finished. "I can't do that, Tasha. You're underage, so I must defer to the will of your guardian. Until you turn eighteen, I can't tell you anything he doesn't want me to. However, I do believe that an official apology must be made for the actions of one Rita Ashwood."

My eyes immediately narrowed and Gordon held up his hands in a "calm down" gesture.

"Arkham had a temporary lapse in judgment when they hired her. She used to work a part-time job as a guard in the women's state prison, so she was accustomed to being around criminals. Obviously, she made the mistake of lumping criminals and the criminally insane into one category – as some people do – and she handled the situation poorly. Please do not look badly upon the institution for the mistakes of one of its former employees."

"Former?" I repeated, latching onto the adjective with sudden glee. "She got _sacked_?"

Commissioner Gordon looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Ah… no, not exactly-"

The door to my room banged open, revealing my father in all his furious glory. "Mr. Gordon, if I could have a private word with you?" He snapped, voice practically shaking with rage. "Tasha – eat." He thrust a tray at me and stalked out with Commissioner Gordon following behind.

Finding myself unexpectedly alone with my hunger and confusion, I moodily picked at my Mediterranean pasta (my favorite) and stewed over what Gordon may or may not have been about to tell me.

My new room, which had glass windows instead of walls (who needs privacy anyway?) but was otherwise identical to my old room, was apparently soundproof – I could see my father arguing heatedly with Gordon through the window, but I couldn't hear a thing. After a few minutes, my father ran out of steam and whatever Gordon was saying to calm him began to take effect. Finally, the two men shook hands and Gordon risked an apologetic glance in my direction before striding off down the hallway.

"Feeling better?" My father's eyes tightened as they fell upon my half empty plate. "I thought you were hungry."

"I thought I was too." The pasta had settled like lead to the bottom of my stomach, an uncomfortable weight. "My body must still be confused from the anesthetic or something…"

He nodded, and then asked abruptly, "What did Gordon tell you?"

"Nothing," I sighed. "I asked, and he wouldn't tell me. But Dad, I want to know-"

"That's enough!" My father snapped, shocking me into silence. "You don't know what you're asking! I'm your father, and you won't speak another word about it, understand?"

I stared at him, and he seemed to deflate beneath my gaze.

"You need rest," he said, evading my hurt-puppy eyes. "I have to go… meeting at work… I'll see you tomorrow, Tasha. I love you."

And then he fled.

My own father fled from me.

_Isn't that funny?_

* * *

By the time Judy came around an hour later, my self-pity had worn off. Defiance had replaced it. So what if my own father was conspiring to keep me in the dark? What could he do to stop me from finding out? And I _would_ find out.

Wait a minute…

"Judy?!"

"Tasha!"

We hugged, of course – it's what girls do. And then we both started talking a mile a minute about everything the other had missed – again, it's a girl thing. I told her how much I hated the bitchy Sunday staff and she told me how my father had pulled some strings to get her as my nurse again. (I wonder how much money changed hands for that favor.)

Once we were on the same page, I asked with a suggestive grin, "Hey – where's your puppy?"

Judy looked baffled.

"Brian," I clarified. "He follows you around like a puppy."

Judy blushed and stammered, "Oh, uh… He's new, so he only works with the lower security patients. I mean, I'm new too, so we get paired up a lot, but I'm just here because your father asked me – no, that's not what I meant! I'm here because I'm your friend… er, not that Brian isn't also your friend… But your father only asked for me, not Brian, so-"

"Judy!" I laughed. "Breathe!"

She complied, chuckling sheepishly as she did so.

So, Judy and Brian liked each other, huh… but they were too shy to see that the other reciprocated those feelings? Interesting…

"Hey Judy, what time is it?" There was a clock on my nightstand, but I was too lazy to turn and look for myself.

"Nearly four, why?"

"Because I want to go to the rec room."

Judy squirmed, uncomfortable. "Your father made it clear that he wanted you to stay in bed and rest… do you want me to pick up a book for you from the library?"

"C'mon Judy! I think I'm getting rigor mortis from all the time I've spent in this bed! At least let me go to the rec room for a few minutes just to shake out the cramps!"

"I… _suppose_… an hour wouldn't hurt?" Judy sounded like she was trying to convince herself of this.

"That's right," I encouraged. "Just an hour."

"Oh, alright."

* * *

I couldn't ask Judy.

Sensitive, sweet, caring Judy… as easy as it would be to worm what I wanted out of her, I knew without a doubt that she would try to soften and/or sensor the information – to "protect" me or something.

That was why I needed to go to the rec room; I needed Crane. Cold, hard, analytical Crane… he would be able to tell me everything, exactly the way it happened. Whether or not I could weasel the information out of him, however, was another story entirely. But I considered myself up to the challenge.

* * *

"You'll be alright here by yourself?" Judy verified.

I refrained from rolling my eyes – barely. "Yes, Judy, I believe my chances of survival are quite good, thanks."

"I'll be back in an hour. And if your father asks, this didn't happen, alright?"

"What didn't happen?" I asked, opening my eyes wide and cocking my head to the side in a flawless display of innocent curiosity. Judy shook her head at me but was unable to hide her amused smile.

"See you soon, Tasha."

I muttered a distant "bye", already absorbed in scanning the library for Crane's dark head. To my aggravation, the other end of the room was completely empty. The only inmates in the room were all clustered around the TV, as usual. Original enthusiasm fading, I started forward.

"I did not expect to see you here today, Miss Vale," a silky voice commented behind me. I whirled around so fast that the room blurred and tilted in my vision; I had not completely recovered from the affects of the anesthetic. Crane was standing behind the couch, slightly apart from the other inmates but close enough to hear the TV.

"Crane!" I crowed. He raised a dark eyebrow at me, clearly confused by my exuberance as I bounced over, ready to begin my questioning.

"I presume this has something to do with what happened yesterday?"

"What _did_ happen yesterday?"

He gave me one long, level stare, then grabbed my arm and dragged me around to the front side of the couch. Fixing the inmates currently occupying the sofa with his signature death glare, he suggested, "Move."

Several of the patients sneered at him, unthreatened, before their eyes slid lazily to me. The effect I had on them was quite peculiar: already-pale faces whitened further and eyes widened with obvious fear. They vacated the couch without another word, moving slowly as if to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Unaffected by this odd display, Crane settled onto the sofa and crossed his legs. I followed suit after a moment, confused but somewhat smug that I was more feared than Crane.

"What was that about?" I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. His only response was to bob his head towards the TV. I caught the drift and shut up.

* * *

"In other news," the bottle-blonde newscaster was saying, "the city is in uproar over notorious trickster Envy's latest feat, which she somehow pulled off from the inside of Gotham's prestigious Arkham Asylum. Envy, also known as Natasha Vale, the daughter of local businessman and entrepreneur Richard Vale, was taken into custody last Wednesday night when her vicious murders of four local boys were caught on a security tape.

"Yesterday morning, an Arkham administrator alerted the MCU that a fight had broken out in the cafeteria. By the time things settled down, Envy and nurse Rita Ashwood were missing from the room. Arkham guards and police officers proceeded to search the building and surrounding neighborhood, eventually finding Envy on the fifth floor of the establishment. With her were the bodies of nurse Rita Ashworth and guard Dale MacArthur.

"Another guard, Mr. Gregory Sharpe, is currently in critical condition at Gotham East Hospital. MacArthur and Sharpe were reportedly escorting mass murderer and criminal mastermind, the Joker, through the halls at the time that the fight broke out in the Arkham cafeteria. This leads the authorities to believe that the Joker may have been involved somehow with their deaths, but no evidence as of yet supports this theory.

"Whatever it was that happened between Envy, Ashworth, MacArthur, and Sharpe remained, for the most part, a mystery – until early this morning, when GCN Headquarters received an anonymous tape in the mail. The MCU was contacted at once upon the discovery of its contents, which until very recently were classified. The MCU is now giving us the official go-ahead to let you hear the tape. Be advised – the content is unedited and not suitable for younger viewers."

There was a faint crackle and a click as the tape recorder began rolling. For a few moments, static was all that could be heard.

And then…

* * *

"_Hello, Gotham," Envy purred through the TV. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Three full days… So, did you miss me?" There was an expectant pause. "Aww, I missed you too! Which is why I couldn't let you forget about me so easily, could I? Did you honestly think that shoving me into Arkham like this would change anything? Do you feel all nice and safe now?" Another pause. "What about you, Rita? Do you feel safe?" No one responded to Envy's question, but the sound of harsh breathing was loud in the background of the tape. "Oh, how rude of me! I forgot to introduce my guest star! Say hello to the people of Gotham, Rita."_

_The harsh breathing sped up in response to Envy's demand. "Hello…"_

"_Tell everyone about yourself, Rita."_

"…_I'm a… nurse, at Arkham…" Rita faltered._

"_Go on."_

"_I'm… 52 years old…?"_

"_Oh, don't be so boring, Rita. Give us something not everyone else knows."_

_Rita let out a strange, muffled shriek and began to pant heavily. "M–my sign of the zodiac is Capricorn!"_

"_Very good, Rita. And what are Capricorns known for exactly?"_

"_D-discipline… integrity…"_

"_Don't forget condescension, egotism, and bitchiness." Rita wisely kept her mouth shut. "Well, Gotham, that's Rita for you in a nutshell! Let's move on, shall we? For today's entertainment, I thought Rita could help me play a little game! I call it Associations. Here's how it works: I'll start Rita off on a topic, and she has to tell me the first thing that pops into her head. I will then respond in the same way to whatever she said. If one of us doesn't understand the other's association, we're allowed to ask for an explanation. Don't look so glum, Rita – do you have any idea how much Commissioner Gordon would give to play this game with me? So, let's begin… what is the first thing you think of when I say 'Gotham'?"_

"_Um-" Rita's answer was cut off by another stifled cry. _

"_Too slow. Let's try again – what do you think of when I say 'Arkham?"_

"_Cr-crazies!"_

"_Hm, generic, but it'll do. When you say 'crazies,' I think of my two very favorite men."_

"_John and Ryan!" Rita countered at once, obviously determined not to be 'too slow' again._

"_And who are John and Ryan?" Yet another pregnant pause. "Why do you look so surprised, Rita? Weren't you listening to the rules of the game?"_

"_No – yes – please don't do it again! Please! John is my brother! Ryan is… was… my boyfriend."_

"_Was?" Envy's voice was softer somehow, almost sympathetic._

"_He… he's dead. Almost a year ago."_

"_How?" Rita did not respond. "Very well. I associate your brother and lover with misfortune."_

"_W-why?" Rita's voice cracked, as if she were trying not to cry._

"_Because they both had to suffer through long-term relationships with __**you**__. Now come on – misfortune makes you think of…?"_

"…_My life."_

"_An interesting choice. I associate your life with absolutely no meaning whatsoever." There was cruel amusement in Envy's voice when she asked, "What is it that means nothing to you, Rita?" _

"_The… the mayor's… and the DA's attempts… to make Gotham crime-free."_

"_Oh, now we're getting somewhere! Do tell!"_

"_I just… think it's pointless. It can't work… Gotham's just too far gone."_

"_I like that answer, Rita. I like it **very** much. Well now… I guess I would have to associate those thoughts with Harvey Dent, the last legitimate hope Gotham had, and his untimely demise."_

"_But what about… the Batman? He's inspired a lot of-"_

"_--of Gotham's __**pointless**__ attempts at becoming a better place?" Envy mocked. "Anyway, the key word of that statement was 'legitimate'. A caped crusader with a bat fetish hardly counts. However, I do see what you mean… Batman is, indeed, an __**inspiration**__… to cops and villains alike."_

"_W-what do you mean by that?"_

"_Come now, Rita, surely you've noticed? For every hyped idealist the Batman has so-called 'inspired', there's another villain in the making. It's called magnetism. People like him attract people like… well… me! But enough about me – who inspires __**you**__, Rita?"_

"…_Ryan," she whispered._

"_Ah," Envy's voice returned to that deceptively soft tone which could almost be mistaken for compassion. "And how was it that he died?"_

"_He was murdered by Arkham scum like you!" Rita burst out, half shouting and half sobbing._

"_Ah-ah-ah, Rita, let's not get worked up now – shhh! Do you hear that?" There was a low noise like a moan, only just louder than the background static. "I think our sleepy friend is finally waking up!" The sound of something heavy being dragged across the tile floor was all that the tape recorder picked up for a few seconds. "Hey, Rita? I was just wondering – did Ryan have any tattoos?"_

"_Y-yes… he had one… right over his heart… it was an 'R'… for 'Rita'."_

"_Aww, how sweet! But why just an 'R'? Didn't he have the balls to get your full name? Because if I had as good a boyfriend as Ryan, I'd definitely have him get my full name – not just some wimpy 'E'. For example, maybe something like __**this**__--"_

_A man's ear shattering scream resonated from the television._

_

* * *

_

I didn't want to hear any more, but I couldn't get away. I was certain that the man's agonized cries could reach every corner of the rec room, no matter how remote. There was nowhere to go.

So I turned and buried my face in Crane's chest.

Predictably, he stiffened and tried to pull away. "Miss Vale."

"Shut the fuck up, _Dr. Crane_," I shot back, tightening my grip on his uniform. "I just… I need to be held right now. In case you haven't noticed, I'm having kind of a shitty day."

This explanation was, apparently, not good enough for Crane; he pried my hands free from his orange shirt and forced me back. Those wiry arms of his were surprisingly strong. Then, out of nowhere, he grabbed my face and pulled it close to his. For one confused second, I almost thought that he was going to kiss me. His eyes flickered back and forth between my own, searching for something I could not understand.

"Are you afraid?" Crane demanded. His voice was rougher than usual and his hands were steady. I had to be talking to Scarecrow.

"Currently, I am feeling horrified, disgusted, angry, and tired – among other things. But no, I am not afraid. Sorry to disappoint you… Scarecrow."

His fingers flexed, and I tried not to wince as one of the bony digits not so gently hit my temple. After a short staring contest, the hunger in his eyes receded and Crane shoved my face away from him. There was silence between us.

Another scream echoed from the television, and I automatically buried my face into Crane's chest again. He stiffened (again), but did not try to push me away this time.

"Put your damn arms around me, Crane," I ordered, my voice slightly muffled by his shirt. "It takes two people to hug, and I need a fucking hug right now." He didn't move, so I grabbed his unwilling arms and forced them around me. "Just keep them there for a minute and let me pretend I'm being held by someone who cares, okay?" I sighed.

We sat there like that for a full minute before he stated expressionlessly, "It's over."

I sat up and Crane immediately pulled back his arms. He was right; the man had stopped screaming and Envy was talking again. I was starting to wonder which was worse.

* * *

"_Where were we?" Envy wondered aloud, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. "Oh, right – Ryan. How exactly was it that he came to be killed by… ah… 'Arkham scum like me'?"_

_Rita was crying, but her broken sobs were almost too quiet for the recorder to pick up._

"_Don't break down on me now, Rita. Answer the question."_

"_H-he was in the Narrows when the mass break-out of Arkham happened," Rita sniffled._

"_On the night that the fear toxin was released? It seems I was right to associate him with misfortune. Now I associate him with the fear toxin as well."_

"_The worst day of my life."_

"_Really? It was one of the best of mine – so exciting, you know? What about you? What was your best day?"_

"_The day… Ryan told me he loved me."_

"_What happened?"_

"_He… he took me out to my favorite restaurant… a fancy Italian place… way too expensive for everyday occasions. Then we went to a club and we danced for hours. He was such a good dancer…." Rita's voice had by now taken on a strange, peaceful tone – she was clearly reliving everything. "Then we went for a romantic walk in the park… and he suddenly pulled me into his arms and looked deep into my eyes and then-"_

_A single gunshot rang out._

_Rita did not speak again._

"_Let it never be said that I have no mercy," Envy commented. "She died on the best day of her life, and she never even saw it coming. In this world, that is all that you can ask for. I'm still here, Gotham. It would be… unwise of you to forget it."_

_Envy laughed then, and the recording clicked to a stop._

_

* * *

_

The blonde newscaster started talking again, but I could barely hear her. The count was up to seven now – six dead and one in "critical condition". I could remember him now… Gregory Sharpe. He was the one who had asked me to help him. But I couldn't. Even if he lived, he belonged to Her. I could still see the bloody letters engraved across his chest. They were part of both of us now. His chest and my eyes. Forever.

Rita was dead. Her blood had been on my hands. And somehow, I couldn't bring myself to be sorry. Because something inside of me, whether it was Envy or my very own subconscious, was telling me that she deserved it.

Judy appeared behind me. "Hour's up, Tasha."

"Wow, already?" I turned to face her. Judy blinked and peered closely at my eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I thought I saw… trick of the light I suppose. You alright?"

"Yeah," I said and smiled. "Why wouldn't I be?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Hi, guys, I'm back from the dead! And hopefully none of you are planning to kill me for the long wait! It got insanely busy at the end of the school year, and then I got insanely lazy once it was all over. Happens to the best of us...?**

**Anyway, this chapter's all about filling in that big blank hole from the last chapter as well as developing Envy's character. In other words, it's kind of a glorified filler. Hope you enjoyed it! **

**ChildOfFate17**

* * *


	8. Ultimatum

**Chapter 7: Ultimatum**

Envy and her latest murders quickly became old news. Everything – the hype, the fear, even the respect from other inmates – faded within a few short weeks. It was almost insulting.

The good news was that the Joker (for whatever reason) had decided to leave me alone. In fact, he was completely ignoring me. I guess somewhere along the line, I had lost his interest. Oh, and the new Sunday staff employees were actually competent.

Therapy was going well. At least, that's what I assumed, since I hadn't felt the faintest twinge of Envy since… well, you know. Anyway, Dr. Foster seemed like a nice enough guy. A touch invasive, but aren't all shrinks? According to Judy, though, he's the best of the best. She even let slip that he was the one working with the Joker and most of the other priority cases. So Envy had become a priority, huh? _About time._

In case you were wondering, that other guard – Gregory Sharpe – made a full recovery. I was glad to hear it, but thinking about him for too long still made me feel nauseous. Especially when, on my own request, he came to visit me. That short conversation went something like this:

"Miss Vale."

"Mr. Sharpe. I – ah – trust you're feeling better?"

"Yes. The doctors in this city are very good."

"They've had a lot of practice."

"Yes."

"Er, I… I'm sorry. I hope you won't think badly of me, Mr. Sharpe—"

"I know that it wasn't your fault, miss. And I didn't die, so…"

"Um, that's not really what I was apologizing for, but I'm sorry for that too. What I mean is… I couldn't help you, when you asked me to. Please understand, I just… I _couldn't_."

"I do understand. It's a normal human reaction to panic at the sight of another dying. I don't blame you for it."

"If you had died because I couldn't help you—"

"But I didn't."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know.

And that was that.

* * *

As far as I could tell, things between my father and I had gone back to normal… at least, as normal as they could be, for a suffering father whose daughter was a psychopathic murderer. He still came to see me, but the visits were becoming less frequent as the days went by. What used to be an everyday thing became once every other day… then every couple of days… and then, out of nowhere, he shows up one afternoon with a pretty little slut on his arm as if he expects my blessing.

I was in the rec room, as per usual, just hanging out in the library section with Crane. Ridiculous as it may sound, we were discussing the Psychology class I had been taking before, well, you know. Shit happened.

"Tasha!" Mike called suddenly, causing both of us to shift away from each other and stare down at the open books in our laps. Yeah, we're not suspicious at _all_.

"What's up, Mike?" I answered without turning around, pretending to be immersed in Crime and Punishment.

"Your dad and… your dad's here." The mixture of hesitation and confusion in the guard's voice made me respond much more quickly that I might have to one of dad's usual visits. Abandoning my book (and, more unfortunately, my companion) without a backward glance, I made it maybe two steps before my eyes found my father and his…whore.

I stopped.

Seeing the look on my face, my father's sheepish grin turned into worried grimace. He gently detached himself from the woman's prying fingers and crossed the space between us to give me a hug.

"Sweetheart," he whispered in my ear. "I know this is sudden, but I'm begging you to be open-minded." He raised his voice to normal speaking volume before introducing the woman, "This is my brilliant publicist, Gloria Samuels. She's been… a real comfort to me over the past few weeks, and I wanted you to meet her. Gloria, this is my daughter, Natasha."

Gloria was young and beautiful, a stunning redhead with a smile that simply oozed charm. Needless to say, I hated her at once.

"I'm so glad to be meeting you at last, Tasha," she gushed, falling into my nickname too easily for my liking. "Your father-" (she batted her obviously fake lashes at my dad, who answered with a goofy grin) "-has told me so many wonderful things about you. I just had to meet you in person! You're as pretty as he said you are."

"That's funny," I answered, my voice neutral. "He hasn't even mentioned you."

Gloria's smile only faltered for a moment before she had it back full-blast. "Richard?"

"I – um - that is…" He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I didn't really know how to tell you, Tasha-"

"Tell me what, Dad? That you're fucking your publicist?"

_Isn't it funny how denouncing your father's sex life to his face can sound like an ultimatum? _

A vein began to pulse in my father's forehead. "Natasha Vale, don't you _ever_ say that to me again!"

"But it's true, isn't it?"

"That's not – it doesn't – the issue here is respect!" He blustered.

The adrenaline from my hurt and anger seemed to speed everything up, and I spat out my reply before I had really thought it through: "If respect is the issue, then let me clear something up right now." I turned to Gloria, keeping my voice calm and my eyes intense, and said, "If you are having sex with my father in the hope of getting some of his money, then I do not respect you, and you are wasting your time. Didn't you see the ring on his finger? Dad is still married."

Although my father wasn't looking, I swear that I saw Gloria's eyes dart down to his ring finger and then back up. That was enough proof for me. I laughed.

"Natasha Ariadne Vale!"

That stopped my laughter. I hate my middle name, at least when it's used in conjunction with my first. Really, what were they thinking? _Natasha Ariadne_? No need to make up a hooker name, I've got mine, thanks.

I did not respond to my name, choosing simply to glower at my father for revealing my embarrassing name in such a public place – in front of _her_ no less. My father took note of my mutinous, but submissive, silence and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry for losing my temper, Tasha. It was wrong of me to bring Glory here like this, with no warning, and expect you to understand. However, she does not deserve the way you've treated her. I want you to apologize."

Faintly ashamed after my father's apology, I turned to Gloria with my tail between my legs. She met my eyes evenly and I opened my mouth to apologize… when she smiled. It was no more than a tiny, smug twitch of the lips – unseen by my father, who was watching me – but it was enough.

The world tilted, warped in my eyes. The only clear thing amidst the blurriness and static was her face. I lashed out in blind rage, raking my fingernails down her cheek and giving her three pretty little lines, which soon started to bleed.

A guard had my hands pinned behind me only a second or two later. Rage not yet spent, I thrashed against his hold while another guard ran over to help.

"She _smirked_ at me!" I hissed, straining my body towards Gloria, who was nursing the scratches on her cheek. "She fucking-!"

Somewhere off to my left, my father was asking frantically, "What is it? Is it Envy?"

The question jarred me back to my senses. Of course it wasn't Envy. Couldn't he tell the difference between his daughter losing her temper and a mass-murdering psychopath? _It's getting smaller._

Suddenly exhausted, I went limp and allowed the second guard to yank my chin upwards. I stared into his eyes dully. His eyebrows contracted a bit and he leaned in closer, blinking.

"It's Envy, isn't it?" My father repeated.

"Well, it's Tasha now," the guard said after another second, though he sounded a little unsure.

"Tasha, honey, how are you feeling?"

I opened my mouth slowly to answer, but was interrupted by a whimper from Gloria, "Richard…"

And, distracted, my father went to her. "I'm so sorry, Glory, are you alright? Let me see. Do they hurt? Mr. Davis? Could you have someone take Miss Samuels to the infirmary, please? Thank you. Go on, I'll be up in a bit."

As soon as she was gone, the pacing started. Mike interrupted him soon after and explained that we would have to relocate to my room, since I'd… misbehaved. Once in my cell, the pacing started up again. Back and forth, pinching the bridge of his nose until it went white. It was hypnotizing.

Finally, I mustered up the strength to say, "You promised never to get married again after Mom died. You said I would be the only girl in your life."

A haunted, guilty look ghosted across his thin face at the accusation in my voice. "Oh, Tasha," he whispered, pulling me into an embrace that I did not return. "Glory understands and accepts that you will always come first in my life."

"What about Mom?"

Some part of me knew that this wasn't fair, but it wasn't until the pain set in upon his face that I fully realized it. A promise made in mourning, when the grief is at its freshest, can't truly expect to be upheld in the long run. Time has a funny way of healing people. Or, at the very least, numbing them to the pain.

"You're right."

_What?_ Those two words – and the manner in which they were spoken – unnerved me more than anything the Joker could ever say.

"Glory was a mistake," my father continued, emptily, as if he were too tired to even form complex sentences. "I was… weak. I'll end it tonight. Recommend her to a different company. Hire a new publicist…"

But, even as he continued speaking, my vision blurred. I saw my dad, alone in our penthouse, keeping himself company with old photos and home videos of a dead wife and a criminally insane daughter. My eyes cleared when I blinked and realized that I was crying.

"No," I said. My voice cracked, so I repeated the word louder and louder, arms reaching out blindly, fingers clinging to the broken man. No. _No_.

At some point, he came back to life and began to return my embrace. "Tasha…?"

"No," I said, one last time, for emphasis. "Dad, I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy. That promise… you made it a long time ago, and I want it to end now."

"But—"

I cut him off, "_Please, _Dad, listen! It's what Mom would have wanted. You know I'm right. Just… oh, Dad, not _her_."

My father's face twisted into a mournful grimace. "Is she that bad?" He didn't say it in the way that I would have expected, with disbelief or as an ill-considered joke. He already knew the answer. "Then… thank you, Tasha, darling, for your permission. I'll send Gloria away as soon as I can gracefully get away with it – don't want a lawsuit on our hands, do we? And then…"

He seemed at a loss for words, so I lent him mine: "Then you'll bump into a beautiful woman, no younger than twenty-nine, on the sidewalk outside of Starbucks. She'll spill her coffee thanks to you – clumsy – so you will apologize profusely and buy her a new one, all whilst charming her with your rapier wit. If she has taken all of this graciously, invite her to sip her over-priced beverage with you, perhaps on a walk through a nearby park. Then, if she laughs at all your lame jokes and you find her girlish giggles endearing, express your interest in seeing her again, but leave the date open and give her your number so that she doesn't feel overwhelmed or threatened. If she calls you back (and she will), report to me so that I may pat myself on the back and hear tales of the lovely new lady whose name is _not_ Glory."

A bemused silence and then, finally, my father laughed and tousled my hair. I barely noticed the annoying hair ruffle, because it was then that I realized how long it had been since I'd last heard his laugh. It was so loud and genuine, that kind of full-body laugh that leaves you smiling fondly even after the joke has passed. I plastered myself against his chest, feeling the vibrations pass through me as if I was the one laughing. The static, which always seemed to be on the edge of my consciousness these days, melted away like fogged glass clears with cold air.

"I love you," he told me. My insides twisted; a returned profession of love is never as meaningful as the first, and I found myself wishing that I had beaten him to it.

"_I_ love _you_," said I, slowing the words down, emphasizing every last syllable. "And I'm sorry. Dad, I'm so sorry."

He kissed me on my forehead and that was our goodbye.

* * *

I was fidgeting on the rec room couch when the raised voices began. They were extremely muffled at first, but getting clearer at an alarming rate. They stopped directly outside the rec room, it seemed, and I was able to discern two male voices from the jumbled argument. It clicked a few moments later when I placed both voices. Commissioner Gordon and Dr. Foster were practically screaming at each other in the hallway just outside.

Despite their close proximity, I couldn't make out enough of what they were saying to piece together what they were fighting about. They seemed to talk over each other most of the time and the walls of this asylum were understandably thick. I felt no more than a listless curiosity over this argument, but some other part of me was at attention; I caught myself straining to hear each muffled syllable.

My efforts were rewarded when the door opened suddenly.

"…making progress, this will set us back indefinitely—" Dr. Foster was insisting.

"What would you have me do, Foster?" Commissioner Gordon demanded, sounding harassed but decisive. "Even if I wouldn't have an instant lawsuit on my hands, I need to know—"

"—completely impossible, been in here the whole time—"

"—you know there could be someone on the outside, we've seen it before—"

The door closed with a thump, cutting off the aggravated voices. Irritated, I swung around and was greeted by the smirking countenance of one Jonathan Crane. My anger faded and was quickly replaced by suspicion. I recognized this face; this was the same smug expression that he always wore when he knew something. Something that I would desperately want to know. Something that he could dangle over my head like a carrot, just out of my reach, while he taunts me with hints and delights in my suffering. Asshole.

_How did he know I like games._

"Good afternoon, Miss Vale," Crane said pleasantly, not even bothering to suppress the amusement in his voice.

Pulling myself together for what was sure to be a battle of wits, I graced him with a sugary smile. "How are you today, Doctor Crane?"

"Oh, wonderful. May I sit down?"

"Of course." I swallowed my impatience and asked, "So, are you done therapy for the day?"

We carried on with small talk a while longer, and I was pleased to see the gloating light beginning to leave his eyes. He was growing tired of holding the carrot behind his back… he wanted me to see it, to jump for it. I had outwaited him.

"Rather loud conversation those two gentlemen are having outside, isn't it?" He said delicately.

"Yes," I agreed blithely. "Not very private either; it's as if they want everyone knowing about it."

This was, of course, a complete bluff. It was also completely worth it to see Crane's eyes widen the tiniest bit and watch him reassess his grasp on the situation.

"Indeed," he returned, watching me closer now. "I must say, you're taking it very well, Tasha. A bit too well. As a psychiatrist, I'm concerned."

I did not like the sound of that, but dropping this pretense and demanding answers would get me nowhere. Besides… _this is fun. _"It hasn't quite sunk in yet," I said and left it at that, hoping that he would let something slip soon.

"That's understandable," he answered smoothly. "You've been through a lot recently, and sometimes the easiest way to cope is not to think about it. Would you say that you're in denial?"

"I—"

-was rescued from having to bullshit another answer by the door to the rec room swinging open with a loud click. Pretending to be distracted from the question, I turned to see Dr. Foster entering the room sans Commissioner. My heart sank as he made a beeline straight to me. His expression bothered me—solemn, pitying.

"You have to come with me now, Tasha," he murmured when he reached me. He offered no explanation or reassurance… it was all extremely out of character for him. I obligingly stood without a word. Somewhere in the process of me standing up, the room jumped into focus. Everything was sharp and clear, as if I had been half asleep until that moment. _You were, but I'm here now._ Oh. That thought wasn't mine. No, of course it was. _I am you._

Thus preoccupied, it wasn't until I was almost out the door that I remembered Crane. Catching his eye, I mouthed "_later_" and noted that his expression had changed from gloating to unreadable, almost melancholic. The door clicked shut behind me.

* * *

Dr. Foster sat me down on the big, squashy chair in his office and seemed unsure how to proceed from there.

"Where did Commissioner Gordon go?" I asked. Noticing his surprise, I clarified, "I heard his voice when you two were arguing outside the rec room. If he's here, I assume this has something to do with Envy? What did she do this time?"

"Why don't you tell me, Tasha?" He countered, falling automatically into shrink mode. "I don't recall you mentioning recent periods of memory loss, or anything really that we know relates to Envy. But you seem pretty certain that it was her. Is there something you'd like to share with me?"

"What? No, I… I guess I just assumed, if the commissioner was here too, that it had something to do with her. Doesn't it…?"

"We're not sure yet. Tasha, there's no easy way to say this…" Dr. Foster let out a long breath and took one of my hands. "I'm so sorry, but your father was killed last night."

The world tilted and blurred, then lost all color, and then sharpened again. It was the strangest thing, as if I was on the verge of passing out, but some stronger part of me was fighting unconsciousness with a vengeance.

"How? Who?" I heard myself asking some time later. Her voice was strained with the effort of keeping me awake.

"That is the most puzzling part of the matter, I'm afraid. The… _style_ seems to match almost exactly to that of Envy, but therein lies the problem. Commissioner Gordon went over the security tapes himself, and you have not left this facility. So, the question we have yet to answer is whether the killer was acting on Envy's orders, or if we're dealing with a copycat Envy."

Her anger flooded through us: "_It was a copycat_."

Dr. Foster regarded me over his folded fingers, no doubt analyzing this statement to the T. "Forgive me, Tasha, but I don't see how you can be sure what Envy—"

"Doctor," she interrupted, "look at me. I _am_ Envy. And I am telling you, this is not my work. You know how I operate, doctor. I do not, nor have I ever denied what I do, because I am proud of it. But I am a jealous woman, and if this copycat thinks to steal what is mine, they will find no friend in me. Hunt them down, doctor. Show no mercy. We want to see them bleed."

"I see," he answered hesitantly. "Thank you, Envy. May I have a word with Tasha, please?"

The strength and anger faded a bit as she receded, only a little, just enough to give me room. When I could move my lips again, I licked them and answered, "I'm here."

Dr. Foster leaned forward and stared into my eyes for far longer than I felt necessary. "Fascinating," he remarked. "Not quite green, not quite blue… Envy is still there with you, is she not?"

My lips were stolen away again for just a moment: "I am here."

"Well, Tasha, is Envy telling the truth?"

"Yes," I said numbly. "When she feels strongly about something, I sometimes feel it too. She's angry that someone is copying her. And frustrated that… that her easiest way of getting out of here is gone. She… it's hard to explain. I think what she means is… he loves me. And she benefits from that. So she wouldn't have gone after him. He loved me… he…"

Envy's grasp on my consciousness was slipping. Keeping me awake was taking a lot of effort, I think. I didn't mind at all when, with an almost pitying stab of annoyance, she let me go.

_You will have to wake up eventually, Tasha._

No, it's okay. You can have my body, my name, whatever you want. Keep them; they're yours. Just let me sleep.

* * *

I did wake up, every now and then, never for any significant amount of time. It was always that probing jab from Envy that startled me into being. She couldn't keep me up for long, and she rarely tried. The impression I got about it was a strange sense of irritation and a vague "just checking to see if you were still alive" indifference.

The first face I saw was Commissioner Gordon's. She woke me near the beginning of the conversation; he was saying something about a letter from the murderer, intercepted on its way to me. Dr. Foster, who was also there, expressed his professional displeasure about the whole topic. Something to do with me not being emotionally stable enough to hear this information.

"Do you have any idea what your father's murderer would choose to send you, Tasha?" Gordon asked.

"Not a clue," my voice answered tiredly, solemnly. She was getting better at being me.

Gordon sighed. "Let me know if this means anything to you. The killer sent you your father's finger."

If my body had been my own, I'd have thrown up then and there. Envy, on the other hand, was unruffled: "Which finger?"

"I believe it was his left ring finger… why?"

My other half was silent; we were both thinking furiously. Gordon began to talk again, about codes and copycats, and if I was _sure_ that Envy hadn't been a part of this.

"What's that on _your_ left ring finger, Commissioner?" She interrupted suddenly.

He looked down, staring at the golden band on his finger as if it was his first time seeing it. "Your father… was he wearing a wedding ring? But isn't your mother…?"

"Dead? Yes. But he loved her so much that he never took it off." Something was niggling in the back of our minds, something important, so close we could smell it. Excited by the promise of a close-at-hand epiphany, Envy threw caution to the wind. "Think, Commissioner! The murderer is copycatting _me_. Why do I pay attention to detail?"

Not entirely surprised at her appearance, he replied, "I believe it was, to send a message."

That was it. We arrived at the conclusion together, and our responses were – for once – the same. Fury. The purity of that emotion, stemming from both halves of a whole finally agreeing on something, was breathtaking.

"_Gloria Samuels_," we said.

Gordon leapt up, phone already to his ear, barking orders for search teams and arrest warrants. We hardly noticed. For this short time, we were one.

_Death is too good for her. She will know pain. We will make her beg… we will make her crawl. We will fork her tongue like the snake that she is and stain our hands red in her blood. We will break her. For what she has done…_

Oh, God. Dad.

My anger paled in comparison to my grief, which still I shied away from. Before she could catch me, I sank below the surface again and slept.

* * *

I woke again, this time to Crane's face. He was frowning, as if in deep concentration. And then, slowly, he began to nod.

"Excellent," my voice murmured, satisfied. "If I don't see you within a few days, I'll be in contact. I trust you don't need help with your end?"

"No. If anything, I am more prepared for this than either of you."

"True," she conceded. "I'll be counting on you then, Crane."

He started to say something else, but I was already gone.

* * *

A pair of pretty brown eyes. I was standing much too close to someone.

"I don't even know where to begin thanking you for this, Judy," Envy purred, taking the other woman's hand into both of our own.

The nurse laughed breathily: "I can think of a few ways… Tasha."

I felt our lips quirk into a knowing smile before she rested our forehead against Judy's. "It won't be long now," my other half whispered. "I'm excited."

"Me too." Judy interlaced her fingers with our own.

Unsure what to make of this, unable to muster the energy it took to care, I left myself fade away.

* * *

When I became aware again, not one face, but a small sea of faces was staring back at me. We were in a church… I was on the pulpit. Directly below me rested a closed coffin of coffee-colored wood. This could not be happening.

I looked again. Sure enough, I recognized these faces; they were distant relatives, family friends, even my father's coworkers. Commissioner Gordon was there too, standing discreetly in the back – along with at least ten guards that I could see, all sporting an Arkham uniform.

There was an air of solemn expectancy in the room. Was I supposed to speak? I had nothing to say. My father was not in that coffin. He could not be.

_But he is. The sooner you accept it, the better._

She was too fast for me; my attempt to go under was greeted by a stinging mental slap. Her consciousness wrestled with mine and quickly subdued it; we settled into the mental equivalent of her holding my eyes open.

_You cannot miss this, Tasha. It's like being asleep for your own wedding. Pay your respects! This man was your father._

Is! _Is_ my father! You cannot make me accept it; I will not believe it!

_You must be strong. We will never catch Gloria if you make us weak._

We won't catch anyone inside Arkham anyway. Let me sleep, Envy. I said you could have my body, didn't I? What more could you want?

_Revenge. And I want you to be there to enjoy it with me. _

Then wake me in five years, or however long it takes to convince the doctors to let us go.

_It would take longer than that, I think… which is why, after the funeral today, we won't be going back. You're along for the ride either way, Tasha, so you might as well make peace now. Then we can start hunting._

Her mental hold released, and I reflexively began to slip away.

_Don't worry about your speech, by the way. I've got it covered._

* * *

The next time that I woke, it was on my own. Envy had not jabbed me awake. That in itself was refreshing.

I felt… good. My entire body was sunk comfortably into the softest mattress that I'd ever felt, and the unfamiliar room's tasteful furnishings were glowing in the golden light of late afternoon. Well, I didn't know how she'd accomplished it, but Envy had gotten us out. Though I was vaguely curious about where we were, I trusted her with our safety. Which gave me time to contemplate other things.

My father was dead.

It hurt to think about, but at least I could do so without giving in to an overwhelming urge for the nothingness of sleep. I would heal, in time. And nothing is a band-aid to the soul quite like vengeance.

Presently, I became aware of a strange, skipping gait thudding down (what I presumed to be) an adjacent hallway. A tuneless, sporadic hum accompanied these footfalls until this person seemed to be directly outside my door.

Not even bothering to knock, in barged none other than the Joker, looking right at home in his iconic purple suit. "Good _afternoon_, sleepy-head!" He crowed. The smells of paint, old cologne, and bacon wafted in with him. Shocked, I sat up, clutching the plush comforter to my chest. The vulnerability of my situation was only made more apparent as I realized that Envy apparently preferred sleeping in the nude.

"Um… good afternoon?" I said weakly.

He leaned in close to get a good look at my eyes and giggled. "Rise. And. Uh, _shine_, you two! Are you hun-gry? You look hungry. Never took Jonny for much of a cook, myself, but I have to say, his bacon and eggs are just de-_light_-ful!"

What? _What?_ I floundered helplessly for a few seconds before Envy saved me.

"Mm, I didn't know you swung that way, darling," she purred sleepily, loosening our grip on the blanket until our nipples were barely covered by it. "But I want you to know that I support your life choices and I'm always here if you want to talk about Jonny's… _bacon and eggs._"

The Joker's scars pulled tight on his cheeks as he let out a great guffaw. "I tell ya, sweetheart," he wheezed. "I _ha_-te lying low, but you… you migh-_t _actually make this bearable!" His eyes raked over our figure appreciatively, tongue flicking out to moisten those cherry red lips. "_Ver_-y bearable." He then laughed again under his breath, gave us a mock-bow, and bounced out of the room.

This whole affair left me feeling distinctly unclean, but I could tell Envy got a kick out of it. She gave my body back without a fight and I took our time dressing us. The wardrobe was full of clothes that fit my size and style – it all seemed too perfect. Envy was taking smug delight in my pleasure, but she wouldn't tell me how the hell she'd managed it. And the bathroom… Dear God, I had never been so happy to see shower curtains in my life.

Only once I had groomed myself to perfection (for the first time in _ages_) did I finally emerge from my room. My journey to the kitchen was almost immediately put on hold when I spotted the living room at the end of the hallway. It was the gorgeous, all-encompassing glass wall that clued me in. A view like that could only be found in a breathtakingly expensive penthouse from a high-rise in Gotham's classy district.

"What do you think?"

I started and whirled around. Crane was watching me, arms folded, as he lounged against the door frame which I could only guess led to the kitchen. My breath caught a little in surprise; he looked damn fine in casual clothes.

"It-it's amazing," I replied, tripping a little on my words as I quietly admired the way his chest looked in a fitted T-shirt. "I don't see how the hell we can afford it, but… if we can, I'm not complaining."

"We can," he said, retreating into the kitchen. "Are you hungry?"

I followed him eagerly. "Starving. I hear you're a pretty good cook?"

"The hungrier you are, the better cook I am." He handed me a plate and gestured to the stove. "Help yourself."

As I generously dished eggs and bacon onto my plate, I asked, "So… how'd you guys get out of Arkham?"

He smirked a little and said nothing. So, we were back to that game. _Ah, well._ At this point in time, with food in my stomach and a view to kill for, I couldn't bring myself to be bothered by it.

"Suit yourself. I'll find out eventually."

"I'm sure you will."

"Hey!" I pointed my fork at him. "None of the sass."

"I was being serious. I _am_ sure you'll find out eventually… at the exact time and place that we choose to tell you, of course."

"Sir, your snarkiness is both unappreciated and uncalled for."

And so, the afternoon turned into evening. Watching the sun set from 32 stories up (I got that much information out of Crane, anyway) was a treat. The Joker popped in and out every so often, but he mainly kept to his own room. I didn't even _want_ to know what he was up to.

Eight o'clock rolled around to find me flicking through channels on our _70 inch plasma TV_. It was around this time that I heard our front door bang open and someone shuffle inside. Crane, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, looked up from his book and quirked an eyebrow at me. I took this to mean that he knew who it was and wanted to watch my reaction when I found out. Not wanting to give him any pleasure from my surprise, I arranged my face into an "oh, it's you" expression… which immediately melted away when Judy, still in full-out nurse uniform and arms laden with groceries, rounded the corner. Her eyes lit upon me and widened.

"You're awake!" Judy squealed, dropping her grocery bags and approaching with arms wide for a hug. I returned her embrace automatically, too astonished to think, much less speak. One of her hands ghosted across my cheek. "I've waited a long time for this," she whispered.

Then she set her lips on mine.

* * *

**Dear Readers,**

**I've actually forgotten how to use this site... it's been that long. Someone pointed out in one of the reviews that it had been two years since my last update. At first I was all, "Pffft, bitch be crazy." Then I looked it up and realized that I'm actually just a horrible person.**

**So... sorry about that. It's pretty terrible of me to make you wait like this, so close to when the story would actually earn its M rating. Maybe I'm unconsciously avoiding that moment, because I definitely don't know nearly enough about the freaky shit some people do during sex... and then I'd have to research it and possibly scar myself for life and it would be a huge pain in the ass.**

**I'm not saying I won't try. I've already written a bit of the next chapter (lol Judy)... maybe I'll eventually get in the mood to update again! Oh, here's a funny thing about this chapter... about two fifths of it was written two years ago. The other three fifths was written within the past few weeks. So, my writing style will have changed some. Hopefully it's not too distracting. **

**Well, if anyone is still reading this... that's impressive. I'm shocked. Hope it was worth the wait.**

**-ChildOfFate17 **


End file.
